Equilibrium
by Hank's Lady
Summary: Travis Bickle helps Joker escape from the cops during the riots, and finds Arthur Fleck underneath. With Gotham City in chaos, the pair run to New York and become embroiled in a vigilante lifestyle that Travis previously left behind. Somehow, along the way, romance blooms. M/M, Arthur/Travis, rated for violence and sex.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I parked the old black Ford I used as a taxi behind the apartment building, and made my way up to my floor. The lift was broken again, and after a twelve hour shift, climbing eight flights of stairs was a chore. I dragged my feet and smoked on the way up. One of the other residents on my floor could be heard yelling at their kids, and in the apartment next to mine, a couple squabbled and threw things.

Shrugging, I let myself into my tiny apartment and closed the door. Gotham was such a shit hole—worse than New York. Five years here, and I wondered whether I should go back. At least New York didn't have a garbage strike. Most of Gotham stunk of rotting rubbish, and rats were taking over.

I made some coffee and switched on the TV, then popped a couple of sleeping pills. They should kick in by about 9am and I might sleep for two or three hours. I watched the news, all local crap except for the one interesting story about the vigilante clown. Some guy dressed as a clown had killed three rich young men on the train—two shot on the train itself, and the other mowed down on the platform with several bullets in the back as he presumably tried to run away.

The establishment reminded us that the "clown killer" was being hunted and shouldn't be at large for much longer, while the general public seemed to hail him as a hero for getting rid of some of the city's rich, entitled idiots. It amused me. I wondered if the clown would take out anyone else before he was caught. Thomas Wayne, maybe. That dick was hoping to be mayor. He was everything I hated in a person—brought up with a silver spoon in his mouth, only caring about people like him. People like me didn't matter. He was so like Palantine back in New York, they could have been brothers.

I grimaced a little as I thought about my plans to get rid of Palantine, which had fallen flat when a security guard noticed me trying to pull the gun out of my jacket. Still—I'd probably be locked up somewhere for the rest of my life if I'd done it. At least what I'd done instead, had resulted in me being praised.

The newscaster announced that Thomas Wayne would be speaking outside the town hall as part of his campaign to become mayor, and that he would be heavily guarded for fears the "clowns" he talked about in such a derogatory way could be planning to ambush him. I wondered if the so-called vigilante clown had chosen to dress up like that on purpose.

I switched off the set, made myself some breakfast, and went to bed. As I tossed and turned, unable to sleep as usual, I thought again about moving back to New York. It had been on my mind a lot lately, and I wondered why I'd left in the first place. I'd hated the scum and tried to do something about it, but I'd had no chance of making a real difference. So I left, thinking I could find somewhere better, but every city was the same and Gotham was worse than most.

Eventually, I fell asleep, but four hours was as much as I could manage. When I woke tangled in the sheets, sweating and shaking from another nightmare, I gave up and got out of bed. A shower, two cups of coffee, and a few pills later—the anti-depressants this time—and I was about as ready as I could be to face what was left of the day.

I'd been going through the motions alone for years, getting through each day with the help of drugs and wondering if I wouldn't have been better off dying from the blood loss when I got shot in New York. What was there to live for? I had nothing. I was nobody. I was useless at relationships. I couldn't bring myself to pay for sex—that would make me a hypocrite—so I frequented a porn theatre and gave my right hand a work out when I got home. I'd had one date since I arrived in Gotham—some stuck up bitch who thought she was better than me. She reminded me of Betsy in some ways; smart and beautiful, and much too good for me.

Days passed, and nothing changed, except the state of the city got worse with the ongoing strike, Thomas Wayne promised the earth to get himself votes, and the clown killer got more press as the cops failed to track him down. The day of a huge planned demonstration came, and I stayed at home. I had no intention of taking my taxi out that day, when riots were expected. It would probably end up smashed or set on fire. Instead, I stared at the TV, smoking and drinking beer, and watching the hands crawl around on my wristwatch.

The Murray Franklin show came on, and I went to make something to eat. I couldn't stand the guy and never bothered watching his show. He had some fool guest I'd never heard of, and Dr Sally, whom I had no interest in. I made some toast and fried a couple of eggs. By the time I returned to my couch, Dr Sally was just about done and Murray was getting ready to announce the next guest.

I didn't pay much attention as some wannabe comedian was shown on a screen above the stage, laughing hysterically in Pogo's comedy club and failing miserably to be funny. When Murray introduced "Joker" and the guy walked on stage, all done up in a red suit and a painted clown face with bright green hair, I wondered if anyone else watching had the same idea I had. Was this the guy on the train? The man with the clown face, wiping out three rich guys? Was he the kind of person who had the audacity to appear on a show like this, thumbing his nose at the world? Or was it simply a joke in poor taste—someone who admired the killer and wanted to make it obvious?

I finished eating and paid attention as Joker screeched with laugher, and told a very unfunny joke about a woman finding out her son had been killed by a drunk driver. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, as I watched him, jumpy and fidgeting, putting on a weird voice and saying it had been "a rough few weeks." There was a punchline in there, somewhere.

My instinct was correct, but even though it had crossed my mind, I still gasped in shock when Joker, whom Murray now called Arthur, said he'd killed the three guys on the train. His reasoning? They were "awful."

I snorted. He'd got that right. Half of Gotham was "awful." I watched avidly for the next couple of minutes, as Arthur grew more animated, more angry, and finally pulled out a gun It didn't surprise me. The only thing that surprised me was how he'd managed to get on stage for a slot on Murray's show, without being checked by security. Didn't they do that here? He wouldn't have made it in front of the cameras in New York with a weapon.

"Shit," I muttered. Murray Franklin, supposedly the greatest talk show host in decades, was dead, his brains splattered over the wall behind him, and Arthur was dancing. Then he was gone from the stage and the screen went blank as the programme's producers cut the feed. The channel switched to a news article.

I didn't think about what I was doing, as I turned off the set, grabbed my jacket and keys, and headed out. I suppose it was curiosity. I wanted to see the state the city was in after this astonishing murder on live television. Arthur, whoever he was, would be hunted by every cop in the city and probably gunned down rather than arrested. It would be interesting to see what was happening out there.

I got on the train. The nearest station was two blocks from my apartment, and the journey was only three stops. The moment I pushed my way into the over-crowded car, I realised the clown craze had spread. Most of the other passengers wore plastic clown masks made up like the sketched face in the newspaper after the subway killings. An excited tension rippled through the crowd as the train rumbled into the centre of the city. When it stopped, I was swept out of the car by the hordes.

The streets were in chaos. Cars were already burning in Gotham Square. Masked heroes smashed shop windows and looted; others set things on fire. The cops milled around, trying to get control and failing. I watched from the side of the street, fascinated. So much was going on, it was difficult to take it all in. I almost missed the cop car heading down the middle of the street, just yards away from me, but the impact of it being wiped out in a smash on the intersection caught my attention. Clown-masked men climbed out of the ambulance, which must have been stolen, and wandered around the car, peering in the windows.

I stepped off the footpath and moved closer. A crowd of chanting, air-punching clowns surrounded the car, as the ambulance occupants reached in through the back window and lifted out a body. I couldn't see from where I was, but it occurred to me that it was Joker—Arthur. He was probably arrested before he left the TV studio.

I edged through the crowd as three men laid the body carefully on the bonnet of the car. It was him—I could see the red suit. Was he dead?

I slipped between two larger men and halted a few feet from the car. Arthur lay motionless; broken and bloody. An air of disappointment surrounded him, a few people removing their clown masks and staring, sad-faced. They were in awe of him.

Suddenly, he coughed and blood sprayed from his mouth. My breath caught in my throat as he moved a little, then rose slowly like a marionet being lifted by its strings. Blood trickled down the sides of his face from deep cuts, and more dripped from his mouth. The crowd cheered and punched the air, urging Arthur on as he turned in a circle, performing a few dance steps. He paused side on to me, dipped his fingers into his bleeding mouth, and repaired his smudged clown smile with blood. Then he turned my way, arms outstretched, grinning, as the cheers of support grew louder. He was mesmerizing, and I couldn't look away. Then everything changed.

Cheers turned into screams, thrown cannisters sent up plumes of suffocating smoke, and groups of helmeted, armed men rushed from black vans. Special Forces, come to break up the riot and possibly kill some of the perpetrators.

"Run!" someone to my left yelled.

I took a step away, but hesitated as Arthur fell to his knees on the crumpled car, blood dripping from his lips. He shook his head and coughed, then sank lower, hands splayed out on the metal, arms shaking.

"Shit," I muttered. Should I run? Leave him there, when he was someone so many—including me—admired.

I glanced around me. People were fighting everywhere–masked demonstrators and armed men. Gunshots sounded and two rioters fell nearby. I covered the few feet to the car in a second and reached for Arthur's arm.

"Get up! Come on; they'll be coming for you any second."

He stared at me uncomprehending, eyes blank.

"Arthur!" I gripped his wrist tightly and wrapped my other arm around his back, then tugged at him until he slid off the car and landed on his feet. He staggered, flailed, and grabbed at me for support. He was my height, but painfully thin. I felt his ribs under his clothes.

"Come with me." I made for the nearest alley, dragging him along with me. His legs could barely support him, and he lurched at my side, one arm draped around my neck, fingers digging into my shoulder. He coughed, and blood sprayed down the front of his yellow waistcoat. He could be badly hurt, but he'd have to take his chances.

We reached the alley and I propped him against the wall in the shadows of an overflowing dumpster. His knees buckled, and he would have fallen if I hadn't grabbed him again. I held onto his waist with both hands, keeping him upright with difficulty. He wouldn't be able to walk far, and even if he could make it to the station, we'd be caught in minutes.

"I need to get my car," I said. "You'll have to stay here."

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and stared at the blood, unblinking. I didn't know if he heard me, or understood. I guided him around the other side of the dumpster and lowered him to the ground. It was damp and dirty, but he'd be out of sight. I could only hope he wouldn't disappear or get caught in the time it took for me to go home and come back in my car, assuming the streets weren't closed off. I left him and slipped out of the other end of the alley, away from the riots. Adrenalin pumped through my body as I walked to the station. Running would have drawn attention to me.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I made it to my building without incident. I had my keys in my pocket, so I simply got in the car and drove back to the place I'd left Arthur. I parked at the quiet end of the alley and walked down it, my heart pounding. Would he still be there?

He hadn't moved. He huddled on the ground, arms wrapped around his raised knees, blood still oozing from the cuts on his head.

"Hey." I touched his shoulder.

He looked up and licked his bloody lips. His chin and jaw were slick red, and little rivulets had run down his neck onto his chest in the open "V" of his green shirt.

"We have to get out of here." I slid my hands under his arms and pulled him up. He wrapped an arm around my neck and leaned on me, his body shaking and uncoordinated. I had to half-carry him down the alley to the car. He couldn't put one foot in front of the other without his legs starting to collapse under him. How much blood had he lost?

No one was in sight when we emerged from the alley. I opened the back door of the car and manoeuvred him inside. He curled up on the seat, invisible from the outside unless someone stood close to the car. I dived into the driver's seat, started the engine, and drove back the way I'd come.

Arthur barely seemed conscious when I tried to get him out of the car. Blood dripped onto my hand as I pulled him out, and when I finally got him on his feet, he turned his head away and threw up. I imagined it was mostly the blood he'd swallowed, but there was a lot of it. Perhaps he was bleeding internally, too.

Somehow, we made it into the lift, which was working for once, and then into my apartment. Arthur sank onto the couch and closed his eyes.

"Don't go to sleep. You might have a concussion." I recalled the training I'd had in the marines and got to work checking him over. I sat on the coffee table in front of him while I did so. "Arthur, open your eyes. Look at me." I dabbed at the cuts on either side of his head, quickly establishing they were superficial. I cleaned them up and wiped off his face paint with a wet cloth, revealing ghastly pale skin underneath. Blood oozed from his mouth and down his neck, and he suddenly grabbed the cloth from me and coughed up into it.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" I ran my hands over his torso inside his jacket, feeling ribs protruding, but no breaks. He didn't flinch or make any sign of injury. "No pain here?" I felt his stomach. "Let me check your mouth."

He opened his mouth and I quickly saw the problem—a deep cut in his lower gum, and another on the inside of his cheek. This latter one was bad, probably caused by his teeth when the car crashed. I found a wad of gauze in my first aid kit and put it in his mouth. "Put your teeth together. Keep this pressed onto your cheek."

He did as instructed, and stared at me, unfocussed, from eyes that I saw now, in the light, were green. When they started to roll up in in his head, I moved to the couch and sat beside him. I gripped his jaw, trying not to squeeze hard enough to make the cuts more painful, and carefully shook him. "Arthur! Come on, stay with me."

He blinked, and his irises came into view again, the pupils huge. He tried to push my hand away.

"I'm trying to help you. Keep biting on that gauze. You've lost a lot of blood."

He mumbled something around the wadding and gestured at me with one hand.

"My name's Travis," I said. "I drive a taxi."

He pulled the gauze out of his mouth. "Why did you help me?"

"I don't know." I paused. "You remind me of myself."

"Did you see?" He dabbed at his mouth and swallowed. "What I did?"

"Yes."

He stiffened.

"I'm not judging you."

His eyes rolled back, and he slumped against the cushions.

"Arthur!" He was unconscious. I checked him over and discovered he was breathing. His pulse was rapid, but steady. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth and ran down his neck. I slid my finger into his mouth to open it, and pushed a fresh piece of gauze in. He didn't stir.

I got up to switch on the TV. The news was on, showing a reporter standing in front of Murray Franklin's studio and describing in a shocked voice how Murray was shot dead on live television. The picture flicked to a re-run of Arthur shouting at Murray, then shooting him. After that, a different reporter was shown in Gotham Square, with a backdrop of burning cars and people being arrested. He described the rioting and the fact that Joker had escaped from the crashed police car and was at large in the city. He was being hunted by every available cop.

I glanced at Arthur, and suddenly he opened his eyes again. Apparently, he had merely passed out. He stared at me for a moment, then turned his attention to the TV. The studio reporter was advising that the perimeter of the city was being monitored by armed police, and that any attempt by Joker to escape, would prompt a forceful response.

Arthur removed the gauze from his mouth. There was less blood on it and the flow seemed to have been stemmed. "They're going to kill me," he said. His words slurred as he struggled to form them with his injured mouth. "As soon as they see me, I'm dead."

"You need to get out of the city."

"I don't think that's going to happen. Are you watching this?" He gestured at the screen.

I hesitated. I'd been thinking about leaving Gotham—I hated the damn place. Why had I helped him? I'd told myself I went out there to see what was happening, out of curiosity. But hadn't a little part of me wanted to find him? And now here I was, with a person everyone thought was a psycho, in my apartment. Why had I done that if not to help him?

"I can get you out of the city," I said.

Arthur let out a wild screech of laughter, which stopped as abruptly as it started. "Are you a magician?"

"No, I was a marine."

"Was?"

"I got an honourable discharge after Vietnam." I gritted my teeth, hoping he wouldn't ask for any details. No one knew what I'd been through there, except for the half a dozen therapists I'd wasted my time with in New York.

Arthur nodded slowly. "Why would you help me?" he asked again. "I killed Murray Franklin. Those three guys on the train, too. And others."

"I killed a bunch of people in New York." I opened the drawer where I kept the newspaper cuttings and took out the main one. It showed a picture of me when I still had my mohawk and described how I'd saved Iris and rid the city of a few of its many child pimps. I passed it to Arthur.

"This was you?" He looked up, wide-eyed. "I remember it being on the news." He paused and brushed his fingers over his lips, checking for blood. A small smear came away on his thumb, but the worst of it seemed to have stopped. "Travis Bickle," he said, reading from the article. He looked up again. "I'm Arthur Fleck. I, um, I need to get some stuff from my apartment."

"That's not gonna happen. They'll be watching it."

"But everything I own is there. All I have with me is the clothes I'm wearing."

"Then I'll go tomorrow and see if I can get in without arousing suspicion. If you tell me what you want, I'll try to get it."

He nodded. "All right. Thank you. Do you have any cigarettes? I must have lost mine out there."

"Sure." I pulled the pack out of my pocket along with my lighter and passed them to him. While he lit one, I fetched him a glass of water. "You'd better drink this. You'll be dehydrated from the blood-loss. You passed out a couple of times. Do you feel dizzy? Headache or anything?"

"No, not really."

"Good. I don't think you have a concussion. You were unconscious when they got you out of the cop car."

"You were there?"

"Yes."

Arthur sucked hard on his cigarette and blew the smoke out of his nose. "What's New York like?"

"It's like Gotham, but cleaner."

"That would be an improvement. I, um, I don't have much money. Only my last week's pay."

"It doesn't matter. I have some. We can figure things out when we get there." I glanced at my wristwatch. "I'm gonna try and get a couple of hours' sleep. Will you be all right here? I'll get you a blanket."

"I'm fine. I don't really sleep much. I have insomnia."

I snorted. "We have that in common, too." I fetched him a blanket and pillow, then went to bed.

As usual, I tossed and turned, unable to switch my mind off. It was more active than usual, as I thought about leaving Gotham the next day and trying to get past a potential roadblock with Arthur in the car. If I got caught, I'd be locked up and if they didn't kill him, he'd probably spend the rest of his life in Arkham State Hospital—the nuthouse.

I slid my hand under my pillow to check my gun was still there. I'd left my guns behind in New York when I left, but I'd picked up a Colt on the black market not long after I arrived in Gotham. You never knew when you might need a gun. Now, I had a slightly crazy killer in my apartment, and although he seemed calm and appreciative of my help so far, it didn't mean that wouldn't change. I didn't know him. He might go for me with one of my kitchen knives while I slept.

I did sleep, but only for an hour. I woke with my hand still under the pillow, cradling the short barrel of the gun in my palm. I stayed in bed until dawn began to lighten my room, and I heard sounds from my living room as Arthur moved around. He went to the bathroom, then fetched some water from the kitchen, and lit a cigarette. My trained ears picked up every tiny sound.

I got up, took a piss and a shower, and got dressed, before I went to talk to him. He was sitting on the couch, wearing the green shirt and red suit trousers. The blanket was folded neatly on the arm of the couch with the pillow resting on top of it.

"Hey." I ran a hand over my damp hair, brushing the strands off my forehead. "You get any sleep?"

"A little."

He looked different from yesterday. All I could remember was the painted clown face I'd first seen on TV, having forgotten what he looked like when I washed off the paint. His skin was pale and his face too thin. He'd washed off the remnants of the paint I'd missed, and the blood from his neck. His green hair seemed strange now he appeared relatively normal. His mouth was swollen, and his temples were bruised around the cuts there.

"You want some coffee?" I offered.

"No, just water is fine." He gestured at the glass on the table.

"Breakfast?"

He shook his head.

"You look half-starved," I blurted.

He flinched and colour crept into his cheeks. There was an issue there, but I didn't pursue it.

"All right. I'm gonna have some. Then I'll see if I can get into your apartment." I passed him a notebook and pen. "Write down the address, and what you want me to get from there. I'll do the best I can. If they have it guarded, I won't be able to."

"That's okay." He began to write, in ugly misspelled words like a child.

I made coffee and toast and smoked while I ate. It was seven o'clock—too early for me to go out without drawing attention. As a taxi driver, I was often on the roads at all hours, but visiting the apartment of a hunted killer? Probably not a good time to be in the vicinity.

I spent some time packing my belongings into two holdalls. I didn't have a lot of stuff. The apartment was rented furnished, so it was just clothes and shoes, video tapes, a few records and other crap. I couldn't take the TV and video recorder with me. I didn't want to make it too obvious I was leaving the city, because if my car was checked, it would prompt questions.

Arthur sat quietly smoking and sipping water while I worked. I wondered about him, but it wasn't the time to start asking questions. We had a long drive ahead of us, if we could get out of Gotham. I could learn about him then.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As nine o'clock approached, I got ready to leave. I put Arthur's note and keys in my jacket pocket and tucked my gun into the back of my pants under my shirt. He didn't say anything as I let myself out, but he seemed jittery and tense, smoking one cigarette after another and fidgeting.

It took my fifteen minutes to drive to the area where he lived, with traffic crawling through rush hour. I parked a few blocks away and walked, keeping my eyes peeled and ears alert for cops. A few cop cars passed, and several officers walked past me, but they didn't give me a second glance. As I approached the apartment block, adrenaline surged, and my pulse quickened.

Two armed officers stood in the entrance. They stared hard at me but didn't ask me to stop. When I got in the lift, I selected the sixth floor in case activity on Arthur's floor was being monitored. I climbed the stairs up to the eighth floor, and cautiously pushed open the door into the corridor. It was empty. Heaving a sigh of relief, I hurried to the far end and unlocked Arthur's door.

The apartment was dark, and I felt for a light switch before I went farther than the door. Immediately, I saw the body—a large, over-weight man with a gouged eye and a neck wound. Blood was everywhere—splattered on the walls and pooled on the floor. Bloody footprints led away from it across the living room.

"Fuck," I muttered. It would have been nice if Arthur had warned me. Now I was at a murder scene, and a potential suspect if I got caught. My only defence would be that the man had been dead since yesterday. I tiptoed past the blood, trying not to step in it, and switched on a couple more lights. I had to do what I came for and get out as quickly as possible.

I found the large shopping bag Arthur told me would be in his bedroom and began to fill it with clothes—socks and underwear, shirts, a couple of pairs of trousers, sweaters, and a tan jacket with a hood. I found a T-shirt and pyjama pants on the bed and grabbed a pair of shoes from under a chair, then checked the list to see what else he wanted. A few toiletries from the bathroom, and he kept his money in the same place I did—a tin under the bed. There was less than a hundred dollars in it, but I stuffed the money into my wallet. Finally, I picked up two packs of cigarettes I'd seen on the table beside the bed.

I sidled past the body again, cautiously opened the door and peeked out, but the corridor was still empty. As I approached the lift, suddenly the doors opened, and two cops stepped out—not the same ones I'd seen downstairs. At least I was far enough away from Arthur's apartment.

"Hold up." The cops blocked my way and I stopped.

"Yes, officers?"

"We need to ask you a few questions. What's your name?"

"Travis Bickle." I wouldn't gain anything by lying, and they might ask for identification.

"What are you doing on this floor?"

I glanced at the nearest door to me which had 8B on it, meaning the ones behind me went C, D et cetera until Arthur's apartment G at the end. "I've been staying with my girlfriend for a couple of days," I said. "I'm on way home now."

"Which apartment does your girlfriend live in, and what's her name?"

"8D," I said. "Betsy Perkins." Betsy was the stuck-up woman I'd tried dating in New York and Perkins had been the last name of one of my buddies in the marines. They wouldn't be able to check the details unless they called it in or went to knock on the door.

"And Ms Perkins can verify this?"

"She would if she was home, but she went to work at eight. You can catch her after two this afternoon." I smiled pleasantly. "Can I go? I have to get to work myself."

One of the officers stepped aside and gestured at the lift, while the other wrote in a notebook. I got in the lift and after the doors closed, heaved a sigh of relief. They weren't being too rigorous with their checks, then.

Minutes later, I was back in my car driving home. When I opened the door, Arthur jumped up, his face anxious. Then he saw the bag in my hand. "You got everything? You didn't get caught?"

"Apparently not." I handed him the bag. "Everything's there."

Did he not remember a man was lying dead in his apartment? I decided now would not be a good time to bring it up. It was more important to get out of Gotham, but I was more wary now. Arthur could be a complete psycho, and I was glad of the gun nestling in the back of my pants. At least he seemed calmed and relatively harmless at the moment.

I pulled out my wallet, took out his money, and gave it to him. "There were two cops downstairs, but none on your floor. Another two showed up on the eighth floor as I was leaving, but I was far enough away from your apartment by then. They asked me a few questions, but they didn't seem concerned about who I was."

"That's good. Thank you. What happens now?"

"We leave. There's no point waiting until it's dark. Anyone trying to leave the city then will probably be questioned more. I think driving out in daylight will work better."

Arthur pulled out the last cigarette from my pack and lit it from the butt of the one he'd been smoking. His hands shook, and he sucked hard on the filter. He seemed very different from the character on Murray Franklin's show. I wondered if he'd been high then, but it wasn't the time to ask.

"If we get stopped, the trunk will probably be checked," I said. "There's a space under the backseat. You'll have to squeeze in there until we get clear of the city."

Arthur's eyes widened. "No. No way." He paced back and forth in front of me, tugging one hand through his hair. Some of the green strands were stained with blood, I noticed, and the rest of it was lank and tangled. "I can't stand small spaces."

"You don't have any choice. If we're stopped and you're seen, neither of us will be going anywhere except jail."

Arthur burst into loud laughter. It went on and on, verging on hysteria, which he tried to suppress by clutching at his throat and covering his mouth. Neither worked. "I h-have a c-c-c, a condition," he stammered eventually. "My cards—I lost them."

"Cards?"

"I—" He broke off and laughed more until he choked and spluttered.

"Take it easy, will you?" Alarmed, I tried to think of any condition that made someone laugh like this, and I came up blank. Perhaps he was just crazy, as I suspected.

"I have a condition," he said more clearly. "Sometimes I laugh inappropriately. It's the result of a brain injury."

"What happened to you?"

"Please. Don't ask me about it. Not now. Later. Please."

"Fine. But you're gonna have to squeeze under the seat, or we're going nowhere."

He nodded. "All right."

"Let's go."

My car was parked behind the building. The area was deserted, so at least none of my neighbours were there to notice someone they may have seen committing murder on the TV climbing into the trunk of my car. I leaned in first, pulled up the carpet, and pushed up the bottom of the backseat, which created a small gap, just enough for Arthur to squeeze through. It was lucky he was so thin.

"Please. No. I can't get in there."

"It won't be for long. Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour. You have to, if you want to get out of here."

He climbed into the trunk without another word, and wriggled, snakelike, through the gap. The space under the seat was just big enough for an adult in foetal position. When he was in, I could see only his face, eyes wide and scared.

"Try to think about something else," I said. "Close your eyes and take deep breaths. I'll be as quick as I can." Then I pulled the bottom of the seat down, replaced the carpet, and put our bags on top of it. Minutes later, we were on the road.

I took the north-east exit road, assuming it would be the busiest. Maybe they wouldn't stop everyone if there were so many cars it would create havoc. But the road was unusually quiet, as if people who would normally travel north out of Gotham had decided not to bother until Arthur was caught. There were two cars in front of me when we were signalled to pull over to the right and stop.

As I waited for the four officers to check the two cars in front of me, I weighed up my chances. My gun was still in the back of my pants, fully loaded. One of each pair of officers was armed, but the others only had batons. If I could take out the two with the guns quickly enough, we might still have a chance. I'd only do it if they got suspicious, of course. If that happened, it may be the only way of escape.

The first car drove off, and the two officers walked past the vehicle directly in front of mine and came to me. My window was already open.

"Driver's license." The unarmed officer stood by my window, while the other hovered behind him, two or three feet away.

I passed him my license and taxi permit. "Travis Bickle. Taxi driver," he read. "What's the purpose of your journey today?"

"Visiting family," I said. "My parents live in New York."

"Open the trunk." He passed me the license back. I got out of the car and walked around the back to pop the trunk.

"What are those?" He indicated the bags.

"Clothes, toiletries, bits and pieces. I'll be away for two weeks," I explained.

He reached into Arthur's bag and pulled out the tan jacket which was on top, peered in at the other clothes, and clear bag containing razors, soap, and toothbrush. Then he replaced the jacket and stepped back. I closed the trunk.

"You live in Snyder?" Clearly, he'd seen my address on my license.

"Yes, it's all I can afford right now." I grimaced and chuckled.

He nodded. "All right. On your way, Mr Bickle."

"Thank you, Sir." I got back in the car, started the engine, and drove away. Nothing else happened. The car ate up the miles, and I pulled over in a wooded area in Kane County. Again, no one was in sight.

In seconds, I had the trunk open, the bags out, and the carpet up. When I pulled the bottom of the seat out and peered in, all I could see was Arthur's hands over his face.

"Hey. Arthur. It's over. We're in the clear. You can come out now."

He didn't move or speak, or acknowledge in any way that he'd heard me.

"Arthur." I leaned in and touched one of his hands. "Come on, it's over. Get out."

"I can't," he said in a soft, shaky voice.

"Arthur, come on. You're okay." I wasn't great at offering comfort. I understood he didn't like small spaces and was probably scared, but I was used to taking shit and dealing with hideous situations. My way of getting through them was to suck it up and think about coming out the other side. If I'd been in there, scared, I would expect someone to say, "Move your arse out of there, dickhead," and I'd do it. I suspected that wouldn't work with Arthur. I climbed into the trunk and sat cross-legged so I could reach better. Then I slid my hand into the gap and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "What's wrong?"

"Leave me alone." He uncovered his face but didn't look at me. "Go away and wait for me in the car."

I sighed. "Well, hurry up. We need to get out of here." I hopped out of the trunk and got back in the driver's seat. I watched in my rear view as Arthur appeared a couple of minutes later, his head visible above the raised trunk lid. He ducked out of sight a couple of times, and eventually closed the trunk and came around to the passenger side of the car. When he got in, he was wearing the tan jacket and blue pants.

"You got changed?" I said incredulously as I started the engine.

He turned his face away and stared out of the window.

"Fine. Don't talk," I grumbled. I steered the car back onto the road.

"I told you I didn't want to get in there!" Arthur dragged a hand through his hair. "When I was a kid, my mother's boyfriend locked me in the cupboard under the stairs for three days without food or water. I almost died! I was thinking about it and I panicked. I pissed myself, okay?" He turned and glared at me. "Don't you fucking say anything!"

"Shit, Arthur, I'm sorry." I felt like the world's biggest piece of crap. "I had no idea." He turned away again to look out of the window. I rested my hand on his arm for a moment. "I mean it. I'm so sorry," I repeated. I put my hand back on the wheel. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. You were scared. I've pissed myself when I've been drunk—more than once—and there's no excuse for that. It was self-inflicted."

"You drink a lot?" he asked.

"I try not to, but sometimes things get on top of me, you know?"

"Yes, I know," he whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

An hour passed before either of said anything more. I stopped at a diner, intending to go in to have some coffee, but Arthur didn't want to get out of the car. I fetched two paper cups of coffee and a bag of donuts instead. Arthur sipped his coffee but didn't eat anything.

"So, do you want to tell me something about yourself?" I asked.

He shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

Who the dead body in your apartment is, I thought? "Anything. What happened yesterday? Why did you do all that?"

"I didn't mean to. Not at first." He lit two cigarettes and passed one to me. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"It crossed my mind." I calculated how fast I could get the gun out of my pants and flick off the safety. Three seconds, maybe? Two?

Arthur laughed, a soft chuckle rather than the weird hysterical outbursts. "Maybe I am. I spent some time in Arkham. Five years. My mother was in there for about twenty years. Delusional psychosis, they called it."

"Your mother? Where's she now? Does she know about any of this?"

He shook his head. "She's dead."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He smiled. "She wasn't my mother. She adopted me and lied about it my whole life. She stood by and watched while her boyfriend abused me, starved me, and beat me half to death. I didn't know any of this until I read her file recently. Brain injury, you see." He pointed at his head. "I killed her." He sucked hard on the cigarette, tilted his head back, and blew the smoke up at the car roof.

"You killed your mother?"

"She hurt me. I was three years old."

"When did you kill her?"

"A few days ago. She had a stroke and she was in the hospital, so it was easy. I put a pillow over her face."

"Jesus, Arthur." I realised he'd killed six people, that I knew of. "Did they all hurt you?"

"Who?"

"The people you killed."

"Yes. The three guys on the train attacked me. They were drunk and they started bothering a woman. I laughed. I laugh when I'm scared or upset or angry. That time I couldn't stop. They came to me and started tormenting me. I was wearing my clown outfit. I'm a party clown." He lit another cigarette from the butt of the first. His hands shook. "They knocked me to the floor and started kicking me. I shot them."

"Why'd you have a gun?"

"Randall gave it to me. I got beat up before that, by some kids, and he said I should have it to protect myself."

"Who's Randall?" I frowned.

"You've met. He was in my apartment. We worked together. He hated me and called me a freak. After it was on the news about a clown killing those guys on the train, he told the cops I begged him to sell me a gun."

"How many more?" I lit another cigarette for myself.

"That's it, apart from Murray, and you saw that. He invited me on his show just to make fun of me. Someone sent him a video of me on stage at Pogo's comedy club. I thought I could make it. I thought I was good, and I was for some of it—at least I think I was. They were cheering but that might have been in my head. When I first went on stage, I got nervous and laughed. Murray only showed the part where I was laughing. He made me look like a failure in front of millions of people." He rubbed a hand over his face. "You don't have anything to worry about, Travis. You've been nothing but nice to me. Besides, I know you have a gun under your shirt."

I stared at him. I wasn't sure what to think. If he'd been in Arkham, clearly he was thought to be a danger to himself or others, and what he'd done made it obvious. But then again, hadn't I done a similar thing? Sport and his henchmen hadn't done anything to hurt me, but I killed them for hurting Iris and God knew how many other young girls.

"You can just leave me here if you want," Arthur added.

"I'm not gonna do that. You'll get picked up within hours. You know, when I saw you last night, on the show and then dancing on that car with a bloody smile, I thought you must have been high."

Arthur let out a bark of laughter. He continued to laugh for a full minute before it turned to choking. He took a breath and smoked the rest of his cigarette. "The opposite," he managed to say. "When I was in Arkham, they put me on medication—seven different ones. They were anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, and sleeping pills. I felt bad all the time. I went on a programme with social services when I got out, but the funding was cut. I couldn't get my medication anymore. This is the real me, without all the drugs."

"What did you do to end up in Arkham?"

"Nothing. I didn't hurt anyone, if that's what you mean. I wasn't happy. I'd never been happy for one day in my entire life. I tried to kill myself twice. When I was in the hospital after the first time, after I'd cut myself with a kitchen knife, I tried to do it again by pulling my stitches out. A shrink had me sectioned."

"I'm sorry."

"If you want rid of me, you can ditch me when we get to New York. No one in their right mind would want to spend any more time with me than necessary."

"Maybe I'm not in my right mind." I gave him a small grin. "We need to get back on the road, so I'll tell you about it some other time. But I take a bunch of drugs, too. Anti-depressants and sleeping pills. I have PTSD."

"Because of Vietnam?"

"Yes." I started the car, hoping he would take the hint this was the end of the conversation. Talking to counsellors hadn't helped me and bringing all of that up now wouldn't help either of us. Once we reached New York, we'd be okay, but out here we were still technically within Gotham's jurisdiction.

"Travis—"

"Don't ask me anymore about that. Not now," I grunted.

"I wasn't going to. I was going to ask you if you think I should start taking medication again."

"That's something you're gonna have to decide for yourself. Do you feel like you need it?"

"Probably. I'm not sure. This is the first time I've been myself in years. I feel better right now, but I know it'll get bad again."

"Well, we can figure it out when we get there." I switched on the car radio and found a news article. They were reporting on the riots and, of course, the shocking murder of Murray Franklin.

"He used to be my hero," Arthur said bitterly. "I imagined him as the father I never had. But he's just like all the others. He's awful. He wouldn't notice me if I was lying in the street dying. He'd step over me."

"Most people are like that. Always looking after number one."

"…And now we go to Geoffrey Anders, reporting from Otisburg in Gotham City."

"I'm standing outside the apartment building where Arthur Fleck, also known as Joker, lived for the past few years. Early this morning, police discovered yet another victim in the form of Fleck's co-worker, Randall—"

Arthur's sudden screech of laughter drowned out the next part of the report. I glanced at him as he laughed and laughed, attempting to stop it by covering his mouth and clutching at his throat, but he only stopped when he started to choke.

"Here." I passed him a bottle of water.

"—brings the murder count to five so far," Geoffrey Anders said.

"They don't know about Penny," Arthur hiccupped.

"In light of recent events, the death of Fleck's mother Penny has now come under suspicion. Hospitalised following a stroke, Ms Fleck seemed to be recovering, but was later found dead after a visit from—"

I flicked the radio off. "I'm sorry."

Arthur laughed. "My whole adult life, since I discovered comedy, I wanted to be famous. Now I am. I'm all over the TV and on the radio. My whole life's a fucking comedy, isn't it?"

"You know you asked me if I thought you should start taking your medication again?" I glanced at him. He was grinning and combing his fingers through his green hair. "I think it'd probably be a good idea."

He sobered immediately. "But the minute I tell anyone who I am—doctors, social services, whatever—they'll lock me up."

"There are ways around it. I can probably find a way of getting prescriptions. Let's just get there, okay?"

He nodded. "Okay. I'm sorry. You must wish you hadn't met me."

"I came looking for you. I was fascinated," I admitted.

"Maybe that makes you as crazy as I am." He sipped the water, then lit another cigarette. "How much farther is it? I've never been outside Gotham."

"A couple of hours. Are you sure you don't want any of these?" I indicated the bag of donuts on the dash.

"Is that okay? I'll only have one."

I glanced at him, curious. He bit his lip and avoided my eyes. He was worried about taking some of the donuts I got for us to share? But he was happy to accept the coffee I put into his hand. Perhaps this was a result of what had happened to him as a kid; being beaten, starved, and locked in a cupboard.

I took one hand off the wheel and grabbed the bag of donuts, took one out and placed it on my knee. I'd already eaten one. I put the bag in Arthur's lap. "I only want one more. I don't eat a lot of sugar. You can have the rest. You must be hungry."

He looked up again, eyes wide. "Thank you."

"No problem."

Arthur ate two of the donuts, but it took him a long time, nibbling tiny bites every so often as if he had to force the food down. I pulled a music cassette out of the door pocket and stuck it in the stereo, so we didn't have to travel in silence. I didn't want to put the radio back on and listen to more reports on the "clown killer." The first song on the tape was That's Life.

"I love Frank Sinatra!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Yeah, he's good."

"I like music. I like to dance. I never had much opportunity, though. Only in my apartment."

"There are plenty of places to dance in New York. Maybe we can go to one of them. Pick up a couple of girls and dance."

Arthur grimaced. "Girls don't like me. I can't talk to them. I had this neighbour, Sophie. She lived down the corridor from me. I thought thing were going well with her. She came to watch me at Pogo's, and we went to a diner. She was with me at the hospital, too, when Penny first had a stroke. Then I went to her apartment one day when I was upset, and she freaked out. Things got twisted up in my head somewhere. I think I imagined it all."

"What did you imagine?"

"The date and her being at the hospital." His knees bounced and he pressed down on them with clenched fists. "When I went to her apartment, she was scared of me. I didn't even do anything. My meds had started to run out and I was already off some of them. Everything seemed weird, like I was in a dream."

"Well, I don't have a great track record with girls either. I tried dating this girl in New York—Betsy. She was smart and pretty. I persuaded her to go for coffee and pie with me. Eventually, she agreed to another date, but I messed it all up."

"What did you do?"

"Uh, well, I took her to see a movie."

"What's wrong with that? I like going to the movies. Not that I've been very often."

"I took her to a sex movie. She was furious. I sent her flowers after; lots of flowers. But I'd blown it. She sent the flowers back and she wouldn't talk to me anymore. I went crazy about it for a while and made a fool of myself."

Arthur giggled. "Maybe we're not so very different after all."

"Maybe not." That was a worrying thought, but he did have a point. We'd both done crazy things that upset the objects of our affection.

We didn't talk for the rest of the journey. Arthur stared out of the window and we listened to Frank Sinatra until the New York skyline came into view, gradually growing larger as we covered the last few miles.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

When we drove into the city, I found a cheap motel and paid for a room. We needed somewhere to hole up for the night while we found something more permanent. I had over three thousand dollars saved, but I didn't plan to waste it. In New York, the cash would be gone in no time if we weren't careful.

"I can leave." Arthur stood in the middle of the room, staring at the twin beds. "You don't want me hanging around, do you?"

"That's up to you. Do you have any idea how to get by without the help of social services?"

"I can get a job. I'm not useless."

"You're off your meds. You can't give your real name, because you'll be caught in a heartbeat, which means you can't use your social security number either. You'll end up on the streets, Arthur."

"Well, what makes you so special? You think you can do any better?" he grumbled.

"We talked about this. I know how to get by. Leave, if you want, but you won't last long out there."

Arthur sank onto the edge of one of the beds with a sigh. "I just don't want to be a burden to you. Other than Gary, my old co-worker, no one's ever been nice to me. I don't even know you, and you've done so much for me already."

I shrugged. "We established I'm somewhat crazy, too. I have some things I need to sort out. Will you be all right here?"

"Sure. Thank you."

I left him and went back out to the car. The first thing I did was drive to a second-hand car dealer I remembered, and trade in my Ford for a similar-aged Checker in red. They were the typical cab cars in New York. I couldn't exactly go back to work for the yellow cab company I'd been with before. I could have if I wasn't with Arthur, but I didn't want to risk anyone having cottoned onto the fact that he left with me until it was obvious from the news that they hadn't. I could set up on my own again, the same way I had in Gotham. I got the new car stickered up, then headed into the Bronx.

I grabbed a couple of newspapers, then went into a diner for some coffee, and scoured the accommodation pages for private ads. It had been easy to find a room when I lived here before. Many private landlords didn't even ask for proper ID, so long as you gave them cash. With a few options, I found a public phone box and made some calls.

Things were no different than they had been five years ago. An hour later I stood in a single room studio with a bathroom attached, eyeing the ratty furniture and wondering how long I could survive in such a small space with my strange travelling companion.

"Do you want it or not?" the middle-aged, greasy owner prompted.

"Yeah." I pulled out some cash. "You want me to sign anything?"

He shrugged. "I don't give a shit who you are. You pay, you keep the room. You don't, you're out."

"Any issues with sharing? My, um, my cousin is with me. I kind of take care of him."

He raised an eyebrow. "Cousin? Heard that one before. It's up to you who you shack up with. So long as I get the rent, it's none of my business."

"Great. Thanks."

He handed over a key to the room at the top of the building, and a separate one to the outer door. Then he left.

I took a few more minutes to examine the room, which was a large living room with a couch that folded out into a bed, a few storage cupboards and shelves, a kitchen counter with a two-ring burner, a sink, and a little refrigerator. The bathroom was a tiny space barely big enough to swing a cat, with a toilet and shower in it. It would do. I locked up and picked up some burgers on the way back to the motel.

Arthur was sitting exactly where I'd left him, on the edge of one of the beds, although he'd clearly moved around while I was gone. His red suit trousers and a pair of underwear were hanging up drying in the bathroom. He must have washed them. I didn't mention it.

"You want anything to eat? I'm starving." I pulled a wrapped burger out of the paper sack in my hand and offered it to him.

He shook his head. "I'm full from the donuts."

"Well, I'm starving." I sat on the other bed and unwrapped the burger.

"Do you always eat so much?"

"I eat normally." He flinched, and I bit my tongue before I could say anymore on the subject. "I found a studio apartment. We can go there tomorrow. It's a bit of a shithole, but no worse than any I've lived in before. It's just cramped. About the size of this motel room. I changed my car, too. I'll start working tomorrow night."

"As a taxi driver?"

"Yeah."

"I want to work, too. I forgot about my clown stuff, though." He sighed.

"Don't you think dressing up as a clown would be too obvious, given the stories in the news right now?"

"It's all I know how to do."

"There's plenty you could do in this city." I thought for a moment. "There are some jobs that pay cash and don't care who you are. Shit jobs, but still. It's money." I reeled off a list of things—packing, stacking, warehouse work, cleaning, and so on. "Depending on how you go about it, there shouldn't be any trouble." I passed him the newspapers I still had. "Check through these and see what there is. If you need ID for something, I can get it."

His eyes widened. "Fake ID?"

I grinned. "Yeah. I didn't have it myself, but I know how to get it."

"You're a bad boy." Arthur smiled, too.

I met his eyes—sparkling green orbs—and felt a jolt of something. Attraction? I turned my attention back to my food. Not a good idea to go there. I'd thought about it, a long time ago before the marines, but never acted on it. There was too much hate in the world to get away with that, unless it was in secret. Besides, I was kind of stuck with Arthur for a while. A quick bit of fun could just make things difficult. He might not even think that way.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Nothing." I crammed another bite of burger into my mouth and ignored the heat in my cheeks. I had a habit of thinking too much, and this subject was one I needed to shut the door on. I tried not to think about the fact that I'd just arranged for us to stay in a place with one room. And one bed.

We didn't talk much that evening. We watched TV and fidgeted. I could never sit still for long, but Arthur was worse. He fiddled with his hair, shuffled his feet, his knees bounced, and he chain-smoked his way through most of a pack of cigarettes. I had half a dozen, and by the time we decided to turn in for the night, a fog hung in the room. I opened the window, took my turn in the bathroom, and stripped down to my underwear and T-shirt. I took the bed nearest the door and tucked my gun under the pillow.

Arthur took ages in the bathroom. He pissed and brushed his teeth. Then there was silence. Perhaps he was sitting in there, hiding from me. I didn't know or care. I tried to sleep, knowing it would be impossible without sleeping pills, but refusing to take them and knock myself enough that he could take my gun without me noticing.

Eventually, he emerged wearing blue pyjama pants and a white T-shirt and climbed into the other bed. I lay still and silent, while he tossed and turned, as wide awake as I was, but unable to even pretend to relax. About an hour passed, and I wondered if I should say something. Then he spoke.

"Travis?"

"Yeah." I turned my head in his direction, even though I couldn't see him in the darkness.

"Do you have any sleeping pills?"

"Some."

"Do you think I could have a couple?"

"Sure." I groped in one of my bags which sat beside the bed and found the bottle. I tossed it across the gap between the beds. "Don't take more than two. They'll knock you out."

Arthur flicked on the lamp beside his bed and looked at the pill bottle. "They're the same ones I used to have." He dry-swallowed two and put the bottle on the table. "Thank you."

An hour later, he was still and silent. I sat up, found the notebook and pen I had in the bottom of a bag, and started to write—my thoughts on the events of the past twenty-four hours. I'd kept a journal for years, since I was in therapy after Vietnam. Usually, I wrote crap. At least it seemed like crap if I ever went back and re-read it, but sometimes it helped to put my thoughts on paper. I would just have to be careful not to let Arthur see it.

As dawn approached, I finally fell asleep, but I only stayed that way for a couple of hours. When I opened my eyes, the room was light. The first thing I did was to slide my hand under the pillow to check my gun was still there. It was, and Arthur remained unconscious. I showered and changed and went out to get breakfast—stuffed bagels and coffee. When I returned, Arthur was in the shower. I ate half the food while I waited for him, then packed up the few things I'd taken out of my bags. Arthur emerged eventually with wet hair that looked more brown than green as if most of the colour had washed out. He was freshly shaved and wearing dark pants and a red sweater.

"There's coffee and a bagel there if you want it." I indicated the desk.

"Thank you." He lit a cigarette and sipped the coffee.

"The bagel is for you, too," I said more clearly, remembering his attitude yesterday over the donuts. "I've had one."

"Okay."

He ate, but only half of it, and he took a long time. I finished getting ready and put my boots on. "We need to get out of here. Check out is ten. It's that now."

"Sorry." Arthur scurried around, collecting things out of the bathroom, including his clothes which seemed dry. In less than a minute, he stood by the door with his bag in his hand.

We checked out and drove to the building where the apartment was. There was parking on the street in front, and I slid the car backwards into a space just long enough for it.

"You're a good driver." Arthur grinned.

"Thanks."

"I've never driven a car."

"I suppose I could teach you sometime."

"Really?" He beamed like a kid at Christmas.

"Sure." I pulled out my keys, we grabbed our stuff, and entered the building. The old brownstone's stairways were dingy, and I trudged up to the floor where the room was, hoping Arthur wouldn't freak when he saw it. Still, he didn't have to stay with me, despite me having apparently decided to taken responsibility for him. I unlocked the door and shoved it open. "There you go. It's not much."

He slipped past me and stood in the middle of the room. "Is this mine?"

"It's ours." I coughed. "Until we have some money coming in, it's the best I can do."

"Oh."

"It's shit, I know."

"It's better than Arkham." He shot me a smile. "Where do we sleep? There's only one couch."

"It unfolds into a bed."

"Oh!" He flushed scarlet and ran a hand through his hair.

"It'll be fine. I don't sleep much, and I'll mostly be working nights. I doubt we'll be in it much at the same time." I wasn't sure whether I was trying to reassure him or myself. Standing in the small room with him, looking at the couch which when unfolded, would only just be wide enough for two grown men, had me thinking along the lines of last night. We'd be practically up against each other. Despite my determination not to go there, would it be different in the darkness, horny and frustrated, without even the privacy to jerk off anywhere?

"It'll be fine," Arthur repeated, and lit a cigarette. Then he sat on the couch. "There's no TV."

"I'll get one."

"Okay. I like to watch Murray Franklin."

"Well, you won't be doing that anymore, now, will you?" I snorted.

Arthur's eyes went wide, and he burst into hysterical laughter. Loud and wild, it filled the room, until a distant voice yelled, "Shut up!" Then he muffled it with the crook of his elbow until it subsided into choking.

"Take it easy. I'm sorry I said that."

"Why? You're right. Anyway, he turned out to be just as awful as the rest of them. I don't care to watch him anymore."

"What else do you like watching?"

"Musicals." Arthur calmed down and smiled. "I like musicals."

I raised an eyebrow. Not my cup of tea, but if it pleased him and kept him quiet, I'd be glad to buy a video recorder and a few tapes as well.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"We need to get some groceries. You want me to go and do that?" I glanced at Arthur, who was pacing in front of the couch. There was hardly enough space for him to do that—five steps and turn; five steps and turn.

"Can I come? I want to see what's out there."

"Sure. I'll get some more keys cut, too, so you have some."

I didn't relish Arthur's company as I headed into the city on foot. He was unpredictable, and I wasn't sure how I'd deal with a hysterical laughing episode in public. It wasn't fair to leave him cooped up in the room, however, and if I did, he might disappear.

We didn't have far to go to the flea market I'd always used for things I needed when I lived here before. The stalls lined an enormous old warehouse, and we wandered the rows, checking things out. I bought cereal, bread, meat pies, coffee, fruit, and cigarettes. Then when we reached an electrical stall, I picked up a little twelve-inch portable television. When I'd finished paying for it, and discarded the box so I could carry it by the handle on its top, I turned around to find Arthur had gone.

"Shit," I muttered, as I checked all directions. Nothing about him stood out today, apart from the faint green tinge still in his hair. I continued down the aisle I was in until I reached the end and checked both ways. In the corner of the building, a large children's play area was full of kids playing in a ball pit, swinging on swings, and some sitting in a semi-circle watching a Punch and Judy show. A few yards to my right, Arthur stood watching. I made my way over to him. "What are you doing?"

"I could do that." He indicated the Punch and Judy box. Punch was beating the crocodile with a stick. All the kids were laughing. "I love entertaining kids; making them laugh. If I can't be a clown, maybe I could do that."

"You could ask."

A hysterical laugh issued from the person operating the puppets, as the crocodile slumped, presumably dead. Punch danced around, laughing much like Arthur.

"I bet you'd be great at it," I added.

"You think so?"

"Sure. You should talk to the guy after the show. Stay here for a bit if you want. I'll go and get some keys cut. There's a stall here that does that."

Arthur nodded. I left the bag of groceries with him and made my way to the key and dog tag stall. Only one customer waited, and ten minutes later, I had new keys on a cheesy Statue of Liberty key ring for Arthur. I returned to the kids' play area and found him talking to an oldish guy. The group of kids who'd be watching the show had gone.

Arthur smiled, and shook the man's hand, before heading towards me. "He wants to pack up and retire. He's asked me to come back tomorrow after four o'clock when he's finished for the day, and try out. If I'm any good, he said I can take over. The only thing is, I have to buy the puppets. The box belongs to the people that run this place." He bit his lip. "I have enough money to get them, but then I won't have any left at all."

"But you'd be earning. How much does it pay?"

"Ten dollars a show. They don't have to be very long, because kids get bored quickly. But on Saturdays and Sundays, he says you can easily do ten shows a day. More in the summer. And school holidays, it's busy all day every day. Days like today, he does about five or six shows."

"Then you should do it."

"If I'm good enough when I try out tomorrow. I need to practise! Is there a stall here that sells notebooks? I had a journal, but I left it in the studio on Murray Franklin's show. I need to write some material."

"Okay. Oh, here." I passed him the key ring. "Keys for the room."

"Thanks. I like the key ring." He grinned.

He purchased a couple of notebooks and some pens from the stationery stall, before we made our way back to the room, by way of a small supermarket where we collected milk and a couple of TV dinners.

As soon as we got back to the room, Arthur sat down and started writing in one of the notebooks. I tuned the TV and found something to watch. Arthur was engrossed in his work, and had a sock on one hand, acting out various scenarios for the puppets, while he wrote notes and presumably dialogue.

Later, I ate meat pie with cheese, filled up with coffee, and headed out for my first night back on the streets of New York. Arthur barely acknowledged me leaving, still busy writing. He hadn't paused to eat anything, only drank the coffee I made for him. I hid my gun in the car's glovebox, unwilling to leave it anywhere in the room in case Arthur found it and did anything stupid.

Picking up fares in New York had always been easy, and I discovered it hadn't changed. In fact I was busier than when I'd driven a yellow cab, because I undercut the prices. I ferried people around the city from six in the evening until four in the morning, and quickly replaced a chunk of the cash I'd spent on the room. When I returned, Arthur was asleep in the bed which he'd unfolded and made up with the bedding that had been in one of the cupboards. He was curled up at one side of it, his back to the empty half.

I hesitated, yawning. I needed to sleep and he probably wouldn't even notice if I got in there or not. I spotted my bottle of sleeping pills on the cabinet near him, so he'd obviously taken some and knocked himself out. The pills were running low. I would have to do something about getting a prescription soon.

I stripped down to my underwear and T-shirt, and slid into the vacant half of the bed. There was just enough room for me to stretch out on my back without touching him. I closed my eyes and listened to him breathing, slow and even, and for once I didn't need the pills to drop off.

When I woke, much to my horror I had rolled over and moulded myself to Arthur's back. My arm was around his thin body, and his hand held mine against his chest. Thank God I wasn't hard for once. I began to edge away and tried to slide my hand free of his without disturbing him. He tightened his grip and held my hand in place.

"Stay there. Please. It feels good," he whispered.

"Arthur—"

"Please. Just for a minute. Nobody has ever held me like this before."

Nobody had ever held me like that before, either. I'd never spent the night in someone's arms; never woken wrapped around them; never been asked not to leave. I stayed still, trying to relax while my heart picked up its pace and banged against my ribs. Arthur would probably be able to feel it.

He sighed with pleasure and threaded his fingers through mine. "Just for a minute," he repeated.

Somehow, I must have fallen asleep again. I hadn't thought it would be possible, but I opened my eyes to find the room filled with daylight that the thin curtains couldn't shut out. I was still pressed up against Arthur's back, my arm around him. I could feel his heart racing under my palm, and his breathing was fast and uneven. I became aware of a slight movement—subtle and slow, but he was definitely stroking himself off. Not only was he jerking off, right there in my arms, but my dick was rock hard and resting against his arse. The realisation sent a jolt of arousal through me. My immediate instinct was to grind against him; to slide my hand down and touch him. Instead, I rolled away and sat up.

Arthur froze. Colour suffused his face, and a moment later he flew out of the bed and into the bathroom. The door slammed behind him.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered. A nervous laugh bubbled up, and I bit my lip to stop it. I reached for my cigarettes. What the hell happened? Was this how things were going to be? Was this what he wanted? What did I want? At least my erection had gone down.

I stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, smoking and thinking—wishing I could write in my journal to get my head straight, but I could hardly start writing about it when he was feet away in the bathroom, probably about to die from embarrassment. I felt the same myself. I wanted to get dressed and go out before he came out of the bathroom—keep out of his way and hopefully not see anything of him for the rest of the day. But then it wouldn't be less embarrassing the next time we saw each other.

I began to question myself. What was I so bothered about? The fact that he might want to do something with me? It wasn't as if I had girls lining up for me. It wasn't as if I had any aversion to guys either. I hadn't done anything, but I'd thought about it. Not for a long time, maybe, but perhaps that was only lack of opportunity. My sex life had always been virtually non-existent. I lost my virginity with a girl who was older than me before I went into the marines. When I came out, I paid for it a few times. That was it. I couldn't deny I'd felt a spark of attraction to Arthur a couple of times when our eyes met. I'd talked myself out of it because we were stuck with each other.

I glanced at the closed bathroom door, wondering what he was doing in there. Finishing what he started? Or simply hiding from me, afraid to come out and face me? I ground out my cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table. I would have to say something to him—tell him it was okay. Then the bathroom door opened.

Arthur peeked out, his face still scarlet. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I thought you were asleep. I didn't mean—" He broke off and began to laugh. I waited it out, while he struggled to stop it, hands covering his mouth, eyes watering. I lit another cigarette. Eventually, the laughter stopped and he came out of the bathroom.

"I'll leave," he said miserably. "I just need to pack my stuff and get dressed."

"You don't have to leave." I got up quickly. "Come on. We all do it. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"But I—" He coughed. "You were right there. I don't know what happened. I should have gone in the bathroom. It just felt so nice, with your arm around me."

"It really doesn't matter." I took a step towards him, suddenly desperate to reassure him. He looked ready to burst into tears.

"You don't hate me?" he said in a small voice.

"Of course not."

"But I'm—" He looked away and hung his head, before finishing in a whisper; "A fag."

"Jesus, Arthur, don't say that about yourself. Is that what people have said to you?"

"Amongst other things."

"Then they're bullies. There's nothing wrong with you. Look, I didn't expect to be having this conversation with you, and believe me, I would rather not right now. I don't know what you think about me, but—"

"I'm sorry! I know you're not like me!"

"Just listen to me. That's not what I was going to say. I don't know what you think about me, but I'm not exactly Casanova. I've never even had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend. I slept with a girl once before I went into the marines. When I came out—and I'm not proud of this—I used whores a few times. That's it. But when I think of people I'm attracted to, they're not always women. I just haven't done anything about that before. So don't freak out and think you have to leave, because what happened is no big deal." I turned away to light another cigarette, my face on fire. Damn, I hated talking about anything like this. It was bad enough with a therapist. This was precisely why I didn't do relationships, not that I'd ever had the opportunity.

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better?" Arthur asked.

"No. You haven't done anything wrong." I passed him the cigarette and lit a second one for myself. "In fact I kind of liked sleeping like that. It's not like I've ever had someone sleep in my arms before either." I cursed my stupid flapping tongue that wouldn't quit, but at least it made Arthur smile again. Where we would go from here, was anybody's guess.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Arthur finished his cigarette and returned to the bathroom. I made some toast and coffee for myself, while he spent half an hour doing whatever he did first thing in the morning. He emerged dressed, shaved, and with wet hair. The cuts from the accident were healing well, and the bruising didn't look half so bad as it had. He took some coffee and another cigarette but didn't eat anything.

I took my turn in the bathroom and when I came out, Arthur had folded up the bed and was sitting on the couch writing in his notebook. I switched on the TV, made some more coffee, and took my anti-depressants. Only six pills remained in the bottle, meaning I would have to do something to sort that out, and soon. The sleeping pills would be gone soon, too, with Arthur sharing them.

Arthur went out a little after three to go for his audition, and I took the opportunity to write in my journal. I tried analysing my feelings about my roommate, but I couldn't get anything down on paper that didn't make my face burn. I gave up, slipped out of the apartment, and purchased a bottle of whisky. I didn't feel the need for it exactly, and I couldn't have more than a couple of shots before I went to work, but I thought it might calm my nerves. I was like the proverbial cat on the hot tin roof at the moment—since I woke up with Arthur jerking off in my arms.

As I was walking back from the liquor store, I remembered I'd left my gun in the room. Then when I thought more about it, I remembered it had been under my pillow, but Arthur had put away the bedding and folded up the couch. He must have moved it. How could I have been so careless?

I hurried back, trotted up the stairs, and let myself in. The first place I looked was the cupboard where the bedding was kept, but it wasn't there. I checked the couch cushions, under the couch, the other cupboards, the drawers, and the cupboard in the bathroom. There was nowhere else it could be hiding.

"Fuck," I muttered. "Fuck!" Arthur probably had my gun and was doing God knew what with it. What if he used it as part of his audition with Punch and Judy? Punch shoots the crocodile instead of beating it with a stick. He was crazy enough to do that and think it was okay.

I lit a cigarette and gulped a couple of shots of Jack. Jesus Christ. He might never come back. He might already have been arrested. The last time Arthur had his hands on a gun, he killed four people with it, one of them on live television. My imagination went into overdrive, and I cursed myself over and over for taking my eye off the ball.

I flicked the TV over to a news channel and watched the latest. Most of it was about New York, the first article being a shooting in Harlem. I flinched and held my breath until the reporter explained two rival gangs had been fighting over territory. Next was something about Wall Street, then a suicide who'd jumped off Brooklyn Bridge. Then a report from Gotham came in. They were still hunting for Joker, also known as Arthur Fleck. His apartment was being watched, his old boss and co-workers had been questioned, and the roadblocks on every road out of the city were still in place. Every vehicle was being checked.

I laughed to myself. They weren't checking them very well. His photo, both as himself and as Joker, was shown on the screen. My laugh stopped abruptly. Of course, his photo would be broadcast. But they were using one that had been taken from the video tape played on Murray Franklin's show, where Arthur's face was distorted with laughing, and the bottom half of it covered by his arm. It was possible to see who it was, but would anyone here recognise him? Maybe; maybe not. New Yorkers as a rule, including the cops, hated Gotham and everything it stood for, to the extent that NYPD avoided aiding Gotham Police if they could get away with it. It wasn't unheard of for Gotham criminals to lose themselves in New York, and no one cared. Would this be the case for the murderer of a celebrity? Maybe not so much.

I switched off the TV and lit another cigarette. Where the hell was Arthur? If he did anything crazy here and got himself arrested, there'd be no saving him. Unless…

My thoughts drifted to my own activities five years ago. I'd got away with it, and I'd killed Sport in cold blood—gone to see him with the sole intention of wiping him out. Still, the authorities didn't know that.

The door burst open and I jerked back to the present. I got to my feet quickly, as Arthur slammed the door behind him, beaming from ear to ear. He looked—excited was the first word that came to mind. I'd never seen him look like that. His whole demeanour was different; he oozed confidence.

"What have you been doing?" I asked carefully.

"I got the job!" he exclaimed. "I start next week. I was so good. It was perfect." He placed the large bag he was carrying on the ground, pulled out a puppet—Judy—and slipped her onto his hand. "He's a genius!" he squeaked in Judy's voice, while making the puppet wave her arms. "I feel so much better. The old man just didn't have the energy for me anymore."

"That's great." I did my best to be enthusiastic, but all I could think about was the whereabouts of my gun. "Well done, Arthur. I'm pleased for you."

He dropped Judy back in the bag and reverted to his normal voice. "Aren't you going to congratulate me properly?" In the next second, his arms were around my neck and his body pressed against me. His lips met mine in a clumsy, awkward kiss and our noses bumped. Dumbfounded, I rested my arms loosely around his waist. His whole body vibrated, and his eyes sparkled. I gave him a cautious hug but didn't kiss him back. I let him go.

"You're very different," I said warily.

"I'm excited. Oh! I forgot. I got you something." He stooped and dug his hands into the bag. When he straightened, his cupped hands held at least half a dozen orange pill bottles. "Some are for me, too, because I keep using your sleeping pills, and I know you need the anti-depressants, too. They're the right ones, look. I checked." He held them out to me, still grinning.

"How did you get these?" I took them from him and placed them on the tiny kitchen counter.

"From the pharmacy. Not the one down the block. There's another one a few blocks past the market."

"Yes, I know it. Where's my gun, Arthur?"

He paused, still smiling, then danced around in a small circle, slid his hand under the back of his jacket, and pulled out the gun with a flourish before aiming it at my chest.

"Jesus Christ, don't point it at me." When he lowered it, I closed the gap between us and quickly took if from him. The safety was on, and a quick check showed me all the bullets were still in it. "What the hell were you doing with it?" I demanded. "What, you went to hold up the pharmacy and demand drugs? Are you trying to get yourself arrested?"

Arthur's smile vanished and he bit his lip. "I'm sorry, I—" A small giggle escaped. "I was just trying to help. You've done so much for me."

"You don't have to pay me back, and definitely not like this. I could have got some prescriptions. I was planning on doing that tomorrow. What exactly did you do?"

"Not what you think. I was planning to, but it didn't work out like that. You think I'm crazy, don't you? Well, I guess I am. The doctors seem to think so. But I really didn't do anything bad. I went to the pharmacy and when I got there, two guys in hoods were robbing the place. They had knives. So, I pulled the gun out and told them I'd shoot them if they didn't leave. They were only young; kids really. I started laughing. I guess it scared them—you know, crazy hysterical guy with a gun—and they left. The pharmacist thanked me for helping him, so I asked him to help me in return. I said I'd make sure nothing happened to him if he gave me those." He indicated the pill bottles.

"Fuck," I muttered.

"It's no different to what you did. You stopped an armed robbery, didn't you? You actually shot the guy. I didn't shoot anybody."

"It's a little different, Arthur. I didn't rob the fucking store!" I growled. "Your picture is all over the news. You draw attention to yourself like that, you'll be on your way back to Arkham before you can blink."

"Shit." He put his hand over his mouth and giggled. "I didn't think about that."

"You don't seem to think about consequences of anything until after the event."

"I'm sorry, Travis. I thought you'd be pleased. It was funny, really. It would have made a good comedy sketch."

"Nothing about this is funny, Arthur." I glanced at my watch, then stuck the gun in the back of my pants. "I have to go to work. Try not to do anything else crazy while I'm gone, will you?"

He nodded solemnly. I shoved my feet into my boots, found my jacket, keys, and wallet, and made to leave.

"You might have said thank you," Arthur said sulkily, just before I closed the door after me.

I spent my night hours thinking about Arthur, and what could have happened if he hadn't walked in on a robbery, assuming that was true. Who knew? He could have made it up. He could have held up the store like he'd intended, then invented the robbery to make it sound better.

Would I be better off ditching him, I wondered? He could end up bringing us both down if he drew enough attention. As dawn approached, I considered not going back. The only things I'd be leaving behind were my clothes and my journal. I had some money stashed in one of the drawers, but I could soon make more. I could drive away and never look back. He'd probably get himself locked up again, but it wouldn't matter what he said to anybody. No one would know I'd had anything to do with him, because his version of events wouldn't be reliable.

As I dropped off my last fare and pulled up at the intersection a mile from the apartment, I looked left towards home, then right towards the west. I could drive across the country—all the way to California. I'd never have to worry about Arthur again. I could start a new life away from all this; maybe even find someone to be with.

A yellow cab behind me honked as the traffic lights turned to green. I flicked on the left indicator and drove home. Maybe I was too soft for my own good, but I couldn't bring myself to leave him there alone.

When I let myself into the studio, the room was in darkness and Arthur was in bed, huddled up on his side, snuffling softly. I didn't say anything. I stripped down to my T-shirt and underwear, tucked the gun under my pillow, and slid under the covers.

"I'm sorry," Arthur choked out. "Don't be angry."

"I'm not angry." I shuffled closer to him and wrapped my arm around him.

"I didn't know if you'd come back." He turned his face into the pillow to stifle a sob.

"I thought about it—leaving. I'm not gonna do that, Arthur. We're in this together."

"You know you said you could get some prescriptions?"

"Yeah."

"I think I need to start taking my meds again—the other ones. Can you help me get some?"

"Sure. Whatever you need." I pressed a quick kiss onto his cheek and tasted salt.

"Thank you, Travis." He stopped shivering and relaxed. After a while, he fell asleep, while I lay awake thinking. Clearly, I'd decided to stay, but how I would cope with him was another matter.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I didn't sleep that night. I may have dozed for an hour, but it didn't seem like it. I could have taken some sleeping pills, but I was reluctant to knock myself out after Arthur taking my gun was so fresh in my mind.

Eventually, I got up and took a shower. I smoked while I made coffee and peanut butter sandwiches. Arthur didn't move or speak, but I knew from his breathing he was awake. He'd slept for a while when I first got into bed, but now he just lay there, silent, his face hidden.

I sat on my side of the bed and wrote in my journal. Then I went out to get cigarettes, taking the gun with me. When I returned, Arthur was still in bed. I switched on the TV and found some news to watch.

Gotham cops had stopped staking out Arthur's old apartment and the roadblocks were being lifted today. They'd given up. They needed their resources for quelling the persisting riots on the streets. Millions of dollars' worth of damage had been done to properties and cars the night Arthur shot Murray Franklin, and with most of the forces tied up trying to find Arthur, it had got to be a habit.

"They're not looking for you anymore," I said hoping to prompt a response.

He huffed out a breath but didn't speak.

"I'd have thought this would have gone on longer, since it was several people, including a celebrity," I added. "We'll still have to be careful here for a while."

"Mm."

"Arthur? You okay?"

He didn't reply. The next news article was from New York—a pharmacy had been held up by a couple of gang members with knives. A "knight with a shining gun" frightened them away and saved the pharmacist, who was eternally grateful to his nondescript unknown rescuer. There was no mention of him handing over prescription drugs at gunpoint, or even handing them over in gratitude. So, Arthur apparently told me the truth.

"Did you hear that? You weren't mentioned."

He didn't move.

"You awake?" I leaned over and touched his shoulder. He grunted but didn't speak. I pulled the bed covers down a few inches, enough to uncover his face. He lay still, eyes squeezed shut, mouth set in a thin line. "Arthur?"

His only response was to turn his head more towards the pillow to hide his face again. I'd been like this myself a few times. I didn't like to remember it, but there was a time after Vietnam when I stayed in bed for a week, unable to move other than to get myself to the bathroom. I hadn't eaten and had survived on a few bottles of water, until the dark cloud gradually started to lift. I hadn't had anyone to help me, then. Those episodes came and went, but they weren't so severe after several years on the pills.

I checked the row of little orange bottles on the counter. None of the seals were broken yet. My own bottle of anti-depressants still had a couple in, the way I'd left it. I took them, then opened a new one and poured a cup of water.

"Arthur, sit up. Come on." I tucked a packet of cookies under my arm and went around to his side of the bed. He ignored me, of course. "You can stay here all day if you want. It's fine. But you need to have these." I sat down and put the items on the cabinet nearby. "Arthur, come on."

I'd never had to care for anyone in my life. I wasn't that great at looking after myself. I ate shit, drank and smoked, and didn't sleep unless I popped pills. But I would have to learn, and fast. Arthur was in a pit of despair—I recognised it like I was looking in the mirror.

I slid my arms under him and pulled him upright, then gripped his jaw when he tried to twist free. "Look at me. Five minutes—that's all I want from you." I held him against me and picked up the cup of water. "Have a couple of sips of this."

"Get off me, Travis," he mumbled.

"Not happening. If I didn't take my pills, I'd be just like you right now. Drink."

He blew out an exasperated breath and sipped the water. I put the cup down and took a couple of cookies out of the packet.

"No." Arthur shook his head, then rested it on my shoulder. "I'm not hungry."

"No, but you need some sugar in your body, and if you don't eat, the pills I'm going to give you will upset your stomach."

"Leave me alone. Let me sleep."

"You weren't sleeping. You were just lying there wallowing. I do it myself. Not in a while, but it happens. Life doesn't seem worth living, does it?"

He sighed heavily.

"Just two cookies. Then I'll leave you alone the rest of the day."

He muttered something I couldn't make out but took one of the cookies. He nibbled it like a mouse, with no enthusiasm at all. I knew exactly how he felt. I hadn't had a period like this in a while, but it lingered there, threatening to pounce. I let him rest against me and stroked my hand up and down his back, trying not to cringe at the feel of his spine. He was way too thin.

When he finished the cookies, I passed him the pills and the cup of water. He swallowed them without asking what they were. Then he got up and went to the bathroom. When he returned, he got back into bed and curled up with his face in the pillow. I went back to watching the TV and smoked a couple more cigarettes. Arthur didn't move—not when I made myself some lunch and tried, unsuccessfully, to get him to eat, and not when I put my boots and jacket on ready to go to work.

I made him eat a couple more cookies and take some pills before I left. He did so without protest, as if he thought it was too much effort to argue. From experience, I knew it could be as long as three or four weeks, or maybe longer, before the anti-depressants had much effect on him. Hopefully, he would claw himself out of the hole before then.

It was a quiet evening, and I drove over to the old diner I'd hung out in when I'd lived here before. Wizard and the others had all gathered there for coffees and snacks, and I hoped to catch up with them. I bought myself a coffee and a slice of pie, but no one I recognised was there. I sat by the window, watching passers-by. I was just finishing my pie, when a yellow cab pulled up outside and Wizard got out. So, my old buddy was still here. He charged through the door and came straight over to me, apparently having seen me through the window.

"Trav! What are you doing back here, my friend?"

I got up and we shook hands, then gave each other an awkward one-armed hug. He ordered a coffee and sat down.

"Gotham not all it's cracked up to be?" He chuckled.

"You've seen the news, I'm sure. It's a shithole."

"I never could figure out why you went there. I get that you wanted to get out of Dodge for a while, but out of all the cities in the U. S. of A., why in the hell would anyone go to Gotham out of choice?"

I shrugged and grinned. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Were you there when that lunatic shot Murray Franklin? Have you seen the riots?"

"Of course I was there, I left a couple of days ago. Didn't want my cab getting burnt out. Look." I lowered my voice. "Are you still in touch with Dave?"

"Not so much, but I know where to find him. He did a stretch for possession last year. You need something, Trav?"

"Just prescription stuff. Or a book of scripts. Either."

Wizard frowned. "Can't you sign up to another programme now you're back? Or are you on something else?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Okay. Well, you can find Dave in Chinatown." He described the location of a bar I'd never heard of. I stayed chatting for a while and left when he went out to pick up a fare. An hour later, I found Dave in the bar Wizard told me about.

"Hey, Dave." I sat down at the table he occupied with a brassy woman wearing too few clothes and too much makeup.

"Have a seat, Travis." He sneered and drained the glass of whisky he had in his hand.

I ignored the sarcasm. "You still doing business?"

"Maybe. Are you buying?"

I realised I didn't know the names of the medications Arthur needed. "I want a book of blank prescriptions," I said in a low voice.

Dave raised an eyebrow. "Programme cut you off?"

"I've been out of town. It'll take a while to get sorted."

Dave shrugged. "Whatever. It's your business. Book of twenty'll cost you two hundred."

"Are you serious? That's robbery."

He shrugged again. "Take it or leave it. That's what it costs."

"Fine. When?"

"Tomorrow. Same time in here."

I glanced at my watch. "I'll be here."

"Good to see you, Travis." Dave chuckled as I walked away. I scowled but didn't respond. He was an arsehole; always had been. But at least I could get Arthur's medication, and more of my own when the current supply ran out.

I finished working at two in the morning. Business was slow and it was a cold night. I burned off fuel running the engine to keep warm, and it made more sense to go home to bed.

Home. I thought about what that meant as I trudged up the stairs to the studio. Home was a small room at the top of a falling-down building, with a depressed psychopath waiting for me. I couldn't have predicted this a week ago, if I'd thought of every possible scenario that might be in my future.

Arthur looked like he hadn't moved when I got in, but the packet of cookies was half-empty. At least he'd eaten a little more, and presumably taken some more pills, since the lid was off the bottle.

I cleaned up in the bathroom and took a couple of sleeping pills. I hid the gun under my pillow as I always did and got into bed. Arthur made no sign he was aware of me.

"I know you probably feel like shit, so I won't ask," I said. "I sorted out a way to get your other meds. Someone I used to know is getting me some blank prescriptions, so if you can remember the names of the stuff you had before, I can get them."

"They're written in the back of my journal." His voice croaked and he cleared his throat.

"Good."

"You're back early."

"It's quiet out there tonight." I rolled onto my side facing him. He was huddled on the side of the bed as he had been before, his back to me. "You took more anti-depressants?"

"Yes."

"That's good."

"I'm sorry." Arthur sighed heavily.

"What for?"

"Being like this."

"Hey. I know what it's like, remember? It'll get better." I edged closer to him. What would I want if I felt like him right now? Someone to hold me? Doubtful. I preferred to avoid people. But Arthur wasn't me. He had a host of other problems besides the ones I shared. I rested my hand on his hip. "Is this okay?"

"Yes."

I slid closer still, so my chest touched his back. "This better?"

"Yes." He wriggled backward until he was moulded to me.

I slipped my arm around him and rested my hand on his chest. His pecs felt a little soft through his T-shirt, and it reminded me that if I didn't start doing some sort of exercise, mine would get the same way. I tucked my face into his neck and closed my eyes. "Get some sleep," I murmured. I wasn't sure whether I was telling him that, or myself, but as the pills kicked in, I felt myself drifting away.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

When I opened my eyes again and found the room light, I checked my watch in amazement. It was almost eleven and I'd had the best sleep in as long as I could remember. Admittedly, I took sleeping pills, but even they didn't often knock me out for this long, and I always tossed and turned and woke tangled in the sheets. Instead, I lay in exactly the same position as when I'd got in the bed, wrapped around Arthur. My morning wood pressed against his arse, and I could tell by his breathing he was awake.

"Sorry," I grunted as I quickly slid away from him. I expected him to grab my hand and ask me to stay there, but he didn't move or say anything. "You okay?"

He just sighed and I guessed he felt no better than he had the day before. I got up to make coffee and get something for him to eat so he could take his pills. He ate a piece of toast without a word and swallowed the tablets with his coffee. He got up to go to the bathroom, but then returned to bed. I took a shower and got dressed, then switched on the TV to catch the news.

"I'm sorry I'm like this," Arthur said softly.

"You can't help it."

"I've never given into it so completely. Not since before I went into Arkham. Penny always said put on a happy face, but I can't seem to do that now."

"You've been off your meds," I reminded him. "It's no surprise you feel worse. I know what it's like. Don't apologise for it."

"I forgot I don't have my journal anymore. I left it in the TV studio."

"Damn. You said your meds were written in it."

"I can remember them. Get me a pen?"

I found his notebook and pen and passed them to him. He closed his eyes for a moment, then wrote something down, and repeated the process. "These are the main two."

I looked at the lengthy drug names he'd written down. "How did you remember these?"

"I closed my eyes so I could see the page in my journal I had them written on. Then I copied them."

"Photographic memory? Wow. I'll get the blank prescriptions tonight, then I can pick the pills up on the way back."

"Thank you." Arthur buried his face in the pillow and didn't move for the rest of the day. I tried to get him to eat some lunch, but he wouldn't take even one bite. He ate a donut before I went to work, so he could take more pills.

I met Dave in the bar again, and reluctantly gave him two hundred dollars. I counted the pages in the pad of prescriptions he gave me, and made sure they were all signed, to ensure he wasn't cheating me, and he laughed and sneered.

"See you again, Travis!" he called after me as I left.

I had the page from the notebook with the drugs written on it in my pocket. I wrote them on one of the prescriptions along with my own name and address, in loopy writing, hoping it might look like a doctor had done it. The signature at the bottom of the page looked similar and I hoped the pharmacy I went to wouldn't question it. I waited, tense and sweating, while the pharmacist checked the prescription and filled it, but he handed over the paper bag of pill bottles without comment and asked me to pay for them. I handed over more money and five minutes later, I was back in the car.

I worked until six in the morning and when I got back to the apartment, Arthur was up, smoking and drinking coffee. He still wore the T-shirt and pyjama bottoms he'd lived in for the past few days. His hair hung lank and greasy around his neck, and his jaw was scruffy with stubble.

"Any better?" I asked him.

"No, but I can't stay in bed all the time. I need to practise my act with the puppets. And I need to shower and change. I disgust myself." He lifted his arm and sniffed, wrinkling his nose. "I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter. You're sick."

"Yes, in the head." He laughed wildly for a moment, then stopped abruptly.

"I got your meds." I passed him the paper bag.

"Thanks. I'll pay you back as soon as I can." He put the bag aside.

"Don't worry about that, Arthur. It's not a problem."

"It is to me." He finished his cigarette and disappeared into the bathroom.

I stretched out on the bed in my clothes. I wouldn't sleep now Arthur was up doing things, but I rested and listened to the shower running. He took a long time, and when he emerged, he was clean shaven, his freshly washed hair dampening the collar of a red shirt. He sat on the bed next to me.

"I can just sit here and be quiet if you need to sleep."

"I thought you needed to practise your act."

"I can do that later. You shouldn't work all night, then stay up all day and not sleep."

"I guess." He was right. I'd only end up so tired I'd fall asleep in the car while I was waiting for a fare. I took a single sleeping pill but didn't bother getting undressed. I lay on my side with my back to Arthur, my hand under the pillow resting on my gun.

Usually, one pill would only make me drowsy enough to lightly doze. I'd be lucky to get an hour or two of proper rest. Then I felt Arthur's fingers in my hair, combing through the strands and lightly stroking my scalp.

"What are you doing?" I murmured.

"Helping you relax."

"You don't have to—" I began to protest.

"Shh. Don't talk. You do so much for me. Let me do this one thing."

I couldn't deny it felt good. The touch was too light to be a massage, but not light enough to tickle. His long slim fingers roamed from my temples to the back of my head, down my neck and back up through my hair. If I hadn't been so tired, I'd have found it arousing, but instead, I began to slide into sleep.

When I opened my eyes, Arthur was resting against my back with his arm around my waist. Warm breath fanned my neck, its uneven rhythm telling me he was awake. I lifted my hand to check my wristwatch, and realised I'd been asleep for three hours despite the long sleep the day before. Unbelievable.

"You're awake," Arthur said softly.

"Yeah." I turned to face him, dislodging his arm. "I seem to sleep well when I'm with you."

He smiled a little and avoided my eyes. We were so close, his lips only six inches from mine. I shouldn't have, but I couldn't help myself. It only required a small movement of my head to bring our lips together.

Arthur's lips slid awkwardly against mine. I changed the angle and cupped his jaw to guide him. His inexperience and the fact that I was his first kiss thrilled me rather than being frustrating. I caressed his lips with mine, and teased with my tongue until his parted to let me in. He tasted of toothpaste and cigarettes. I slipped my arm around him and drew him closer as I gradually deepened the kiss and thrust in with my tongue.

He pressed himself against me, the beginnings of his erection nudging mine through our clothes. Feeling that he was as excited as I was made my dick throb, and my imagination went into overdrive. In my head I had him naked under me, even though I'd never fucked a man; wasn't even sure how to. It could be a disaster, but it didn't stop me wanting it. The realisation that I wanted this with him surprised me. I was attracted to him, sure, but I'd thought it would be a bad idea to let anything happen. He had so many issues, as did I. We could end up hating each other. But I didn't want to stop.

Reality pulled me out of my thoughts, as Arthur opened my fly and slid his hand into my underwear. His fingers were cool on my heat, and my erection jerked in his hand. Clearly, he was having the same thoughts I was. I tore my lips from his.

"Fuck!" I gasped.

"Is this okay?" His hand froze and he started to laugh, eyes wide and anxious.

"It's okay." I covered his hand with mine and squeezed it around me. "I was just surprised you want to do this."

"I've wanted to do it since I met you." He flushed and closed his eyes. "I probably won't be very good."

"Just do it the same way you do it to yourself." I took my hand away from his. "You want me to touch you?"

"Uh huh."

His face reddened more, and he kept his eyes closed, but he began to slide his hand up and down my shaft, slowly and hesitantly at first, then more firmly as my grunts of pleasure that I couldn't hold in encouraged him.

I unfastened his pants and brushed my palm over his erection. His underwear was wet around the head. I rubbed my thumb over the crown, making him gasp and swear under his breath. His hand on me made it difficult to think; to concentrate. I forced myself to pay attention to what I was doing and tugged him free of his underwear. His erection wasn't that long, maybe four inches hard, but it was thicker than mine. I stroked him firmly, making him groan and shudder.

Gradually, we found a rhythm together, stroking each other, although with each jolt of pleasure, my hand stuttered, or squeezed a little too much, and Arthur's did the same. It was a first time for both of us, and we were both clueless, but it didn't spoil things. My balls had already pulled up, and Arthur's rapid breathing indicated he was as close as I was. He spilled into my hand a moment later, and his deep groan pushed me over the edge. I shot my load through his fist and onto my shirt. Grinning, I pulled his hand off me and wiped the palm on my shirt.

"You okay?"

He opened his eyes. "Yes."

"I'd better, um—" I snorted and sat up, indicating my shirt. I took it off and tossed it into the corner of the room, where a small pile of laundry waited to be done. As I fastened my pants, I became aware of Arthur's gaze roaming over my chest as if he were taking in every inch. Nobody had ever looked at me like that before. Part of me enjoyed being appreciated, while the other part wanted to cover myself up.

Arthur rectified his clothing, his face still a similar colour to his shirt, but his eyes sparkled with pleasure. I wondered if his black cloud had dispersed, and it seemed that way when he lit two cigarettes and passed one to me with a smile. Then he took out two of his puppets and began to act out a scene with the characters talking in whispers.

"You want me to get some burgers or something later?" I suggested.

Arthur shook his head. "He's not hungry!" Punch growled at me.

"Well, um—" I hesitated a moment, then talked to the puppet, feeling a little silly. "He needs to eat something so he can take his medication."

"I'll have toast," Arthur said in his normal voice, then returned to his puppets.

I left him alone and went out to do the laundry. It seemed an abrupt end to the few moments of passion we shared. Not that I could complain. As soon as I came, I was in a dilemma about what would happen next. Talk? Cuddle? Act like it hadn't happened?

A couple of hours later, on my way back, I collected food, buying enough for Arthur just in case he wanted any. But when I entered the apartment, I heard him in the bathroom throwing up. He had folded away the bed and tidied the room, but when he emerged, he looked as depressed as before, and pale.

"It's the medication." He sank onto the couch and closed his eyes. "It makes me nauseous when it starts getting into my system. I haven't taken any of the new stuff yet. I need this to settle down first. I was sick for a month in Arkham when they first started me on the anti-depressants and then mixed the others in."

"You want me to get you anything?"

"No, I'll be okay. I'll just sleep when you go to work."

"I can stay here if you want," I offered, sincerely hoping he would say no. I wasn't any better with sick people than I was with unhappy ones.

"Thank you, but I'll be okay."

It was almost as if what we had done together hadn't happened. I ate my burger and took the extra food with me to eat later in the evening when I had a break between fares. It was a busy night and by two in the morning I'd made sixty bucks. I dropped off my latest fare and headed back to find the next.

Moments later, I slammed my foot on the brake as a young woman darted into the street just yards in front of my car. As I stopped, she spun around and pulled open the door directly behind me.

"Help me!" she gasped and threw herself into the backseat.

I glimpsed a man running towards us, shouting something, and it reminded me of the first time I saw Iris—a twelve-year-old girl running from her pimp.

"Close the door, Miss," I instructed, and shifted my foot to the accelerator.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The car sped away down the street. I heard a thump on the back window as the man briefly caught up, and I looked in my mirrors. In the split second I had I took in a man of around my height, dark hair, designer beard, a diamond in his left ear, smart expensive-looking clothes, and a heavy ring on the hand he had raised in a fist. The girl squealed a little and clutched at the headrest behind me. I turned left, then right, then left, then put my foot down. In minutes we were far enough away to stop. I pulled over and cut the engine.

"Thank you so much." She leaned forward between the seats. I hadn't had the partition installed that company cabs had.

"No problem. That your boyfriend?"

"Yes."

I glanced at her in the rear-view mirror, taking in her appearance for the first time. She was dishevelled, blonde hair damp and tangled, a deep cut above one eye leaking down the side of her face, and a split lip.

"He do that to you?"

She burst into tears. Shit. As I did with Arthur when he was upset or hysterical, I waited it out, then passed her a tissue when she stopped.

"I'll take you to the hospital." I started the engine again.

"Oh, but—"

"You need that cut seeing to."

"I don't have any money. He controls my money."

"Don't worry about that. What's your name?"

"Cheryl."

"Travis." I began to drive to the hospital. "You live with that arsehole?"

"Yes. We're engaged." She held up her hand to show me a large diamond.

"You're not going back to him, are you?" I scowled, thinking of Iris, scared to leave Sport and worried she had nowhere to go.

"No." Cheryl shook her hand. "That was the last time. I thought he was going to kill me. He had me by the throat. My parents live in Gotham. I'll go there."

"It's not a nice place."

"It's better then here. It doesn't have him."

"Good point."

It took only minutes to reach the hospital, and like the good Samaritan I was, I parked and took her inside. At least two nurses looked at me like I was something stuck to their shoe, until Cheryl loudly said her fiancé had hurt her and I was the kindly taxi driver who'd brought her in. After about an hour's wait, someone came to get her.

"Can I have your number?" she asked.

"I don't have a phone."

"Oh. I just wanted to be able to get in touch. To thank you."

"There's no need."

She stared hard at me for a moment, then her eyes widened. "Wait a minute. Are you Travis Bickle? You look like him, except for the hair. He drove a taxi, too. It's you, isn't it?"

"Um—" My face warmed. "Yeah."

"I read about you in the paper, a few years ago. You helped that girl. I was sixteen then. You're really a hero, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

She leaned closer to whisper in my ear, and recited an address. "I won't be going back there," she added. "But he'll be there."

"Miss?" The nurse prompted.

"Good luck, Cheryl. Take care of yourself." I left her with the nurse and went back to my car.

I picked up a fare outside the hospital and when I dropped them off, I still had Cheryl's address in my head. It was in Queens, and I was already virtually there. Should I? My jaw clicked as I imagined the life Cheryl might have been living. "That was the last time," she said, meaning he'd hit her before. "I thought he was going to kill me. He had me by the throat." How scared she must have been. That type of man probably kept her from her friends, too. With her parents in another city, no one to run to, she must have felt helpless; resigned to stay with him, knowing it would keep happening.

I began looking for the address. I knew the general area, and it didn't take long to find the house—a two storey building on its own, with a few trees in front and a BMW on the drive. Another rich entitled bastard that thought he could rule the world, and his woman. I parked a block away and walked back.

The house was in darkness, so either he'd gone to bed, happy and relaxed in the knowledge that he'd pulled Cheryl into line, or he was out looking for her. I slipped around the side of the house, out of sight of any neighbours. A quick check showed me no one was in sight. I pulled the gun out of the back of my pants and used it to smash a window, then reached in to unlock it, the way a burglar might. Then I went around the back to the door. Already, a light was on upstairs. I put the gun away and knocked.

Adrenaline pumped through me as another light came on. I waited, hands hanging loosely at my sides, until the bearded man came into view, wearing pyjama pants. He had a gun in his right hand. I would have to be careful.

"Who the hell are you?" he shouted through the glass. "You break my window?"

I grinned.

The guy scowled, and lowered the gun while he unlocked the door. He kept his hand low at his side when he opened it. "What the fuck do you want?"

I took the chance of him being off-guard, lunged in and latched onto his wrist. He was more muscular than me, but the element of surprise enabled me to unbalance him and twist the gun from his grip.

"Whoa! What the hell?" He took a step back. "What is this?"

"It's a message from Cheryl." I stepped into the house and kicked the door closed.

"Who are you? She been fucking around?"

"No. I never met her before tonight. I was driving the car she ran to."

"A taxi driver?" He frowned. "I know you, don't I?"

"Maybe."

"Look, put the gun down, man. I haven't done anything."

"Other than beat your girl? Put her in the hospital? Make her afraid for her life? That's nothing, is it?"

"What do you want? Money?"

"I don't want your money." I glanced around the room. It was a kitchen with a table and chairs to the left. "Pull out one of those chairs and sit down."

He did so, eyeing his gun in my hand. Was he wondering if he could fight me for it? Or simply watching warily, wondering if I was going to shoot him? I weighed up my options, checked the Beretta, which only had one bullet in it, then pulled out the Colt. His eyes widened.

"What the fuck are you doing? I'll call the cops."

I laughed, sounding somewhat like Arthur when he was upset. "This gun of yours has a single shot in it. There are six in mine. You have a choice. I'm going to give you the Beretta and you're going to put the bullet in your own head. You're a worthless piece of shit that doesn't deserve to see another day. If you turn it on me, you won't have the chance to pull the trigger. You'll take all six of these bullets, and I know where to put them to cause maximum pain without killing you. You'll bleed to death in agony. What's your choice?"

"You're insane!" he exclaimed. "You're that crazy guy that was in the paper for killing those men a few years ago."

"They were scum," I said through my teeth. "So are you. It's your decision what happens next."

"You're not serious." His voice shook a little and his gaze switched from one gun to the other. I lifted my own and flicked off the safety.

"I don't have all night."

"Wait a minute. We can talk about this. What do you want?"

I felt like a different person; like the man I'd been that night I killed Sport and those guys working for him. Like a super-hero, cleaning the city of the worst elements who lived in it. It was almost like I was playing a part in a movie.

"I've told you want I want, and I'm done talking." I fired, and the bullet hit him in the left shoulder. He was right-handed so disabling the other side wouldn't help.

He screamed and yelled, clutching himself with the other hand as blood ran down his chest. "You arsehole!"

"You know what the options are. I have five left. You can end it all now, or you can go through this for the next several hours."

His yelling turned to begging, then sobbing, and eventually, agreement. "All right. All right. Give me the fucking gun," he wheezed.

"Remember what I said. I am faster than you. Turn it even an inch in my direction, and the next one will be in the other shoulder. After that, your dick." I placed the Beretta on the table in front of him. "You know what to do."

I expected him to beg some more or try to shoot me despite what I'd said. I thought he'd drag it out much longer and force me to shoot him again. But he slowly picked up the gun with a shaking hand and stared at it, still moaning from the wound in his shoulder. Time stood still as he turned the gun, the barrel wobbling, and tucked it under his chin.

I thought about the scenario I'd set. Apparently, a burglar broke the window. The house-owner surprised the burglar and got shot in the shoulder. But then, he dies from a bullet out of his own gun. Did he shoot himself because he was in agony? Perhaps, if he had no means of calling for help. Or maybe he was already thinking of ending his life. It would baffle whoever found him, for sure. I couldn't help the grin, as my victim's finger began to tighten on his trigger. His eyes were wide and scared, nostrils flaring as he took his last few breaths.

I took a step back to avoid the splatter as he fired. The gun fell from his hand and slid across the floor. I found some paper towels, wiped my prints off the gun, then put his prints back on it before I dropped it on the floor. A quick run around the ground floor of the house found two telephones. I pulled the wires out of the wall with my hand covered by my shirt cuff, then I left, leaving the back door open. No lights were on in the neighbouring houses, and I didn't see anyone as I slipped out of the garden and made my way back to my car.

I was too wired to work anymore. I smoked a couple of cigarettes as I drove home, but then sat in the car for an hour and smoked some more before I went up to the apartment. I went over and over what I'd done in my head, and a couple of times I found myself laughing. I'd already spent too long in Arthur's company.

Arthur was asleep, his deep breathing steady and even. I took off my jacket and boots and put my gun under the pillow. Then I dropped onto the floor and began doing push-ups. I managed twenty before my arms started to shake. Considering it was so long since I'd done any exercise, that wasn't too bad. I rolled over and did sit-ups. Perhaps I should buy some hand weights. There wasn't much room to put more stuff in the room, but a couple of dumbbells, or some kettle bells would fit in a corner.

Eventually, I wore myself out enough to relax. I had a quick freshen up in the bathroom, stripped down to my underwear, and got into bed. It was dawn, and it was starting to get light outside. It was a miracle I hadn't disturbed Arthur, but he slept on, curled on his side. I slid close to him and rested my arm around his waist.

As soon as I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, all I could think about was what I did with Arthur the last time we lay here together. I remembered the feel of his dick in my hand; thick and wet. My own stiffened at the thought of his cool fingers stroking me, and the memory of his groans of pleasure. I shifted slightly, desperate to grind myself against him and get some friction.

I tried to think about something else. Cheryl came to mind. I thought about the life she had left behind and her scared face when she got in my car. I imagined her calling her parents from the hospital and finding a way to get back to Gotham to be with them. My erection began to go down and I managed to relax enough to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

It couldn't have been more than an hour before I woke again. The room was still gloomy, and I imagined it wasn't full daylight. Arthur's arm was moving against mine, and I realised he was stroking himself. Apparently, the embarrassment of that first time hadn't put him off. Yesterday probably changed things. I kissed his ear. He froze and held his breath.

"Keep doing it," I whispered.

He let out a rapid breath, then breathed in again. I slid my hand under the bottom of his T-shirt and stroked his stomach. It quivered under my touch. He gasped out another breath. His arm began to move again, and he rolled his head back against my shoulder.

My dick hardened, and I rolled my hips to rub against him. I ached to feel flesh on flesh and wondered if he would freak out if I removed the layers of clothing between us. His arm moved quicker, and he moaned with pleasure. My erection throbbed. I could probably come like this, without anything more. Arthur lying in my arms masturbating was much more of a turn on that I could have imagined.

I tucked my face into his neck and kissed the pulse there, then tugged gently at his skin with my teeth. "Are you close?" I whispered.

He whimpered and squirmed against me. "Need… more," he gasped out.

"You want me to?"

Instead of answering, he did what I'd been thinking about. He pushed his pyjama pants and underwear down, then reached behind him and groped for the waistband of my briefs. I helped him and slid them down my thighs. My erection sprang free and bumped bare skin. I pushed it against his arse, sliding along the crack. He took my hand and pushed it lower, to his cock. I curled my fist around it, finding it slick and wet with precome.

"Please, Travis." His voice had gone husky.

I started stroking him, hard and fast, twisting my wrist a little at the end of each upstroke. He was gone, writhing in my arms, his arse rubbing against me and giving me just enough friction as he shot his load into my palm. I spurted onto his warm skin, embarrassed by how easily I came. Rather than pull away and hurry to the bathroom, I gathered him closer to me, ignoring the slick wetness in my hand and the mess between us. Arthur covered my hand with his, keeping it tucked around his softening cock. Minutes passed, and he didn't move.

"You okay, Arthur?"

"Yes. I don't want to move. I don't want it to end."

"We need to get cleaned up."

"But, I—" He released my hand and turned his face into the pillow. "I don't want to never have this again."

"Arthur." I drew away from him and sat up. What was he asking of me? More of the same? A commitment? "What do you want?"

"I want you to—" Colour crept up the part of his face that I could see.

"What do you want, Arthur? Tell me."

"Are you going to leave me?"

"No." I tugged him over onto his back and made him look at me. "Tell me what you were really going to say."

"Just that." His gaze darted away. "This was only meant to be temporary, wasn't it?"

"In the beginning. Things seem to have changed." I grinned. "I'm not going anywhere, Arthur. Not yet, anyway. We'll see what happens."

"I was going to say—" He blinked and when he opened his eyes again, they were staring directly into mine. "Next time, I want you to fuck me. Do you want to?"

My mouth went dry. Did I want to? I'd thought about it. I couldn't help myself. I'd thought about it just minutes ago, when my erection was sliding along the crack of his arse. I'd imagined what it might feel like to be inside him—hot, tight, intense. We'd probably need something. What did they call it? Lube?

"It's okay if you don't." He turned his head away, and I realised I'd waited too long without answering. "I'm sorry I asked. It was, um, the heat of the moment." A squawk of laughter burst from him, and he covered his mouth to stifle it.

Damn. I upset him without even doing anything; just by not saying anything for too long. And I did want to. More than I would have thought possible.

"Arthur." I leaned over him and pressed my lips to his ear. "I do want to."

His breath caught in his throat. "It'll be my first time."

"I know that. Mine too, with a man."

Suddenly, he smiled. "We should get cleaned up."

"Yeah." I pulled away from him again. "You want to go first?"

"We could go together." He threw back the bed covers, revealing his lower body still partly uncovered.

"And here's me thinking you were shy."

"Not anymore. Not when you want me." He sat up and peeled his T-shirt off over his head. His torso was so painfully thin, I had to hide a wince. Every rib pushed against his skin, his collar bones sharp and angular. When he wriggled out of the rest of his clothes, my gaze drifted down to the sharp V below his jutting hip bones, and his thin legs. "I don't look as good as you."

"You look fine. I like you as you are. I just think you need to put on a bit of weight, for yourself."

"I try. It's hard." His smile slipped.

"I know that. We'll work on it." I slipped off my briefs and tossed them aside. "It's going to be a bit of a squeeze in that shower."

Somehow, we managed it. Arthur stood in the corner of the tiny shower facing the wall, while I washed his hair and his back. He squirmed under my hands like a cat, and I almost expected him to start purring when I washed his hair, combing my fingers through the wet strands which no longer held even a hint of green. When he turned around so I could start on his chest, he was hard again. He flushed scarlet when I glanced down, but the self-satisfied grin on his face didn't falter.

I leaned in under the hot spray and brushed my lips across his. "You're sexy, Arthur."

"Am I?" He leaned back against the wall, posing. "I've never thought of myself that way."

"You should." I squeezed more liquid soap into my hand and reached for his erection. "You want a little more?"

His eyelids drooped and he arched his neck. "Yes."

I jerked him off again, slower this time. Seeing him like this aroused me all over again, despite having come so recently. I added more soap and wrapped my hand around us both together. Arthur grunted in surprise as I began to rub our dicks against each other. It felt so good, touching him, sliding against him. It was all new to me, too. I didn't know what I was doing, but it all felt good. We came together, the shower quickly washing away the evidence.

Arthur picked up the shampoo then and began washing my hair. No one had ever done that for me before, and I closed my eyes as his fingers massaged my scalp. It felt almost as good as when he'd stroked my hair that day to help me go to sleep. When he finished, he washed me from head to foot, by which time the water had gone tepid and threatened to turn cold. We got out and dried off.

"Are you feeling better today?" I asked as we found clean clothes to put on.

"Yes, a little. That's your doing. Thank you."

"When do you start doing the Punch and Judy gig? It's today, isn't it?"

He nodded. "I'll be glad to be earning some money."

I started making coffee and oatmeal, and Arthur switched on the television. The news was on, and the first thing I heard was that a James Pearson had been found dead in his home, after having possibly surprised a burglar. The fact that he'd been shot twice with two guns, one being his own in an apparent suicide, confused police. They had interviewed his girlfriend, Cheryl Steeple, who was in the hospital after having been beaten by him. She was a suspect and police were looking for taxi driver, Travis Bickle, who had picked up Cheryl from the street. He was said to have seen her being chased by James, meaning she couldn't have been responsible for his shooting.

"Shit," I muttered. Way to draw attention to yourself, Travis.

Arthur looked at me. "You helped that woman?"

"Yeah. She was running away from him last night; jumped into my car. He banged on the window as I drove away."

"He's dead."

"So it says."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Did you kill him?"

"It said he shot himself," I said carefully.

"It said he might have, but he was shot by another gun, too. Were you there?"

"She told me where to find him; gave me the address," I admitted. "He's a worthless piece of shit. I shot him in the shoulder and encouraged him to finish the job."

Arthur smiled. "He was awful," he said. "Like Sport. Like those three rich guys. Like Murray."

"Yeah, he was awful."

"Are you going to contact them and give her an alibi?"

"Yeah, I'll have to." I didn't relish the idea. I'd probably end up on the suspect list, but what else could I do? I passed Arthur some coffee and a bowl of oatmeal. "Make sure you eat that so you can take your pills."

"Yes, Mom." He grinned. He ate but drank water between bites and took twice as long as me to finish the bowl. His smile quickly disappeared, and a frown creased his brow.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. A bit nauseous. I'll be better in a few days." He took his pills, then got his puppets out to practise. He had an hour before he was to leave for the market.

I wrote in my journal, pretending not to pay attention to Arthur, but I listened to the comical conversations between the characters. He was good and I knew he'd do well so long as he didn't lose his nerve.

After he left, I called the cops and arranged to go to the station to give a statement about Cheryl. As I waited to be seen, I began to convince myself they'd cotton on to what I'd done, especially given my history. But I was in luck. The sergeant who interviewed me had been involved when I got rid of Sport and his minions. In fact, Sergeant Rodgers had been the one to practically strangle me in his efforts to stop my bleeding before the ambulance arrived.

"Mr Bickle." He showed me into an interview room and closed the door. "It's been a while."

"I've been out of town."

"You haven't wasted much time drawing attention to yourself." He winked and offered me a cup of coffee from the machine in the corner.

"Well, you know, damsel in distress."

"Here you go." He passed me a paper cup of coffee and sat down at the other side of the table. "This isn't about you, by the way. It's about Miss Cheryl Steeple. Do you want to tell me what happened last night, starting with you first seeing her?"

I recited the events, including her fiancé banging on my window, proving that he was alive and kicking at the time I took her to the hospital. I left out the part where she told me her address.

"So, you didn't see any more of him after that moment?"

"No." I eyed him steadily.

"The circumstances of his death are confusing. He seems to have surprised a burglar, and yet the bullet that killed him was from his own gun. An apparent suicide."

"Yeah, I heard that on the news." I shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe he had an attack of guilt. You know, over Cheryl."

"Maybe. What did you do after you left the hospital?"

"I'd had enough for the night. I was tired. I went home."

"Where is home? Is there anyone there who could confirm when you arrived?"

I gave him my address. "I don't have an alibi. Didn't think I'd be needing one, otherwise I might have checked in with the warden when I got back. Don't think he'd have been too impressed to be woken up in the middle of the night, though."

"Okay, Travis. That'll do for now."

"That's it?"

He smiled. "Were you expecting to be treated like a criminal?"

"No. But I helped the woman, I saw her man and know what he did, and I have no proof as to where I was."

"Well, like I said, this isn't about you. You're her alibi, that's all. I know where to find you if we have any more questions, although I don't think that's likely."

"Thanks, Sergeant."

Minutes later, I was back in my car heading home to try to get some sleep before Arthur returned. I was sure Sergeant Rodgers suspected I was more involved than I admitted, but if he did, he clearly didn't want to know about it and would rather pass the incident off as a simple burglary gone wrong and a suicide. Then I remembered something. A few years back, not long before I killed Sport, there had been an incident in the paper. Sergeant Rodgers' daughter had been beaten half to death by her boyfriend, and all the system gave him was five years in prison. Perhaps the Sergeant thought James Pearson got what he deserved and was happy to bury any thoughts he had on who was responsible.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I didn't see Arthur until the next morning when I got in around five o'clock. When I let myself into the room, quietly in case he was asleep, I found him sitting in the darkness smoking. The air was thick with it as if he'd been chain-smoking all night. I opened the window and a cold draft flowed in.

"You all right?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"Didn't you take some pills?"

He shook his head and lit another cigarette from the butt of the one he'd been smoking. He dropped the butt into the overflowing ashtray beside him.

"You upset about something?" I sat down next to him and took the last cigarette in the pack.

"No. I just wanted to wait for you."

"You stayed up all night waiting for me? You need your sleep, Arthur. How did the gig go?"

"Oh, that. It was good." He smiled suddenly. "It was great, actually. I did six shows. The kids loved it. Even some of the parents. I have my own money now." He pulled out his wallet and counted out fifty dollars from it. "This is for you. For the rent or the food or something. Whatever. I owe you a lot."

"Thank you, Arthur, but make sure you keep some for yourself." I took it rather than refuse and risk offending him. I knew he felt bad about me paying for everything. "So, why did you really stay up all night?"

"You'd already gone to work when I got back. If I went to sleep, you'd be sleeping when I go out to work again. I'd never see you."

"I can come back earlier some nights," I suggested.

"I wouldn't expect you to do that."

"Well, I want to go to bed now for a while. Are you going to join me?"

"Yes." He jumped up, stuck the cigarette in his mouth, and started unfolding the couch.

I left him to it while I had a quick wash and cleaned my teeth. Arthur took his turn in the bathroom after me, and I got in the bed. I didn't bother with sleeping pills. I felt like I was tired enough to sleep without them, and with Arthur next to me, somehow I usually managed it.

When Arthur joined me, he was wearing his pyjama pants and a T-shirt. He lay on his back, stiff and awkward, not touching me.

"Hey." I touched his arm. "Come here."

He edged closer and turned to face me. I slid my arm under his neck and drew him against my side. Immediately, he relaxed and snuggled against me. He needed reassurance each time we were close, that I wanted him there. I didn't even know what I really wanted yet. I wanted him near me. I wanted sex. But what about the rest of it? He was getting emotionally reliant on me; maybe getting too fond of me for his own good if I decided this wasn't for me. The trouble was, I'd never been in this position; never spent any time with one person and begun to feel anything for them. I had become responsible for Arthur, and if this turned out to be not what I wanted, I sensed I would stomp all over his feelings with my boot heels. It made me nervous. I'd brought him to New York to help him, because in that moment when he was dancing on the cop car, all bloody, with his arms outstretched, I admired him. And now—he was needy, damaged, and I was the only person in his world. That was a hell of a responsibility.

He slept, but I didn't. I'd got into bed with my eyes heavy but the moment I closed them, my mind raced as I analysed every little detail of what Arthur and I were to each other, and how I should handle it for the best. I didn't manage to come up with any answers, before eventually exhaustion took me as daylight filled the room.

When I woke again, Arthur was gone from the bed. The sound of him throwing up behind the closed bathroom door poured cold water on my morning wood. I got up and made coffee, and tea for him. He preferred tea when he was sick. When he emerged, looking pale and sickly, I passed him a mug.

"You okay?"

He nodded.

"Is it still the pills?"

"Yes." He sipped the tea. "I'm sorry."

"You can't help being sick, Arthur."

"Hopefully it won't be for much longer."

"Can you eat?"

"I don't feel like it but I'll have to so I can take my pills. I'm sorry I'm such terrible company. You don't have to stay around me, you know. I don't expect you to."

"It's fine." I gulped my coffee and dropped some sliced bread into the toaster. "I've been there, remember?"

"I'll be better later."

A couple of hours' later, after he'd eaten some toast, showered, and shaved, he looked much better. He put on blue pants, cream shirt, and grey sweater, ready to go to work. "I need to get some more clothes when I've earned a bit more money." He indicated his outfit and grimaced. "Most of my things are from thrift stores. Except for the red suit."

"You looked good in that suit." I remembered how he'd appeared when he walked onto Murray Franklin's stage and danced across it—red suit, yellow waistcoat, green shirt and green hair, with his face painted like a clown. Then later, dancing on the car with his bloody smile.

"I still have it."

"I'll take a night off soon. We could go out somewhere. You could wear it." I didn't think about what I was saying until the words were out of my mouth. I'd asked him on a date. Where in the hell would we go on a date in New York? There were clubs, sure, but I'd never been to one. Would Arthur even like that? Would I? Did I want to encourage things this way?

"Really? You're asking me on a date, Travis?" His face brightened. "I've never been on a date. Well, in my head a few times."

"Yeah. Maybe Sunday." That would give me a few days to discover what we could do. And get lube. Jesus Christ. I turned away to make myself more coffee and hide my warm face. The doubts I'd had when I was trying to sleep seemed to have deserted me. A flutter of excitement in my guts told me I wanted this, however tough it might be.

After Arthur had gone to the market to work, I headed out to do some research. I found a restaurant and bar for gay people, and according to the menu in the window and the tables I could see, you could just have drinks and bar snacks and sit in a booth if you wanted. You didn't have to have a full meal which Arthur would probably struggle with. The place was closed at the moment, but it looked nice enough.

From there I reluctantly headed for an adult store I knew of, that sold everything you could imagine. I slunk in feeling like a criminal, and glanced around the shelves, not knowing where to find anything and reluctant to go and ask the spotty young guy with blue hair and earrings in his face, who stood behind the counter. Luckily, no other customers were in the store.

"Can I help you, buddy?" Blue Hair appeared beside me, loudly chewing gum.

"Um—"

"First time in here, huh?" He grinned. "Don't worry. No one's watching. You got a partner?"

"Yes."

"Girl or boy?"

"Um—" I clenched my fists in my pockets. Damn, this was embarrassing.

"Boy then, yeah? First time?" He smiled again. Clearly he was used to this.

"Huh," I grunted.

"Okay. I think I have something that'll help." He left me and scurried around the store, grabbing items, then beckoned me over to the till to ring them up. I didn't dare ask what he was selling me. I simply paid a ridiculous amount of money, and fled with the brown paper bag tucked inside my jacket.

When I reached the apartment, I opened the bag and looked inside, my face burning. I had a bottle of lube and a gay sex video.

"Oh my fucking God," I muttered. Maybe I should forget the whole thing. Then I thought about Arthur, writhing in my arms as I jerked him off with my dick sliding against his arse. I'd wanted to do it then. I still did—I was merely mortified by the idea of having to watch the damn tape and take mental notes. The fact that I'd regularly gone to a porn theatre before I left New York the first time didn't count. The movies had women in. This was a whole different ball game, literally.

I got down on the floor and did push-ups while I thought about it. I hadn't got around to buying weights yet, but I religiously did push-ups and sit-ups, and lifted the TV up and down above my head fifty times. As I placed the TV back on its shelf, I remembered I hadn't bought a video recorder yet, so I couldn't watch the tape anyway. Relief washed through me. I put it back in the paper bag and hid it in a cupboard underneath my clothes. It could stay there while I got my head together.

It took me two more days to go out and buy a video recorder. I bought a tape for Arthur, too—a musical with Fred Astaire in it. He'd wonder why I had a video recorder and nothing to watch, otherwise.

I bit the bullet and watched the sex tape before he came back from work. I tried to view it as research and watch it in a practical sense, and coupled with the embarrassment, the whole thing made my dick shrivel and my balls try to crawl inside my body. But I learned a few things—important things. If I hadn't watched it, me being with Arthur would probably be a disaster. I'd only succeed in hurting him and probably myself, too.

I hid the tape again, and went out to get some burgers while I waited for him to come home. I ate mine and smoked. Arthur returned, his expression and demeanour telling me he was still struggling.

"How was today?" I asked carefully.

"Okay. The shows went well." He sat on the couch and took off his shoes.

"I got you a burger. It's still warm."

"Thank you." He nibbled the food without any enthusiasm, forcing it down so he could take his anti-depressants. I made coffee and watched the news. When Arthur pushed his plate aside, with only a quarter of the burger left on the plate, I picked up the musical tape.

"I got you something else." I passed him the tape. "You said you like musicals."

"Oh!" His eyes went wide and he stared at the tape, then turned it over to read the back. "I love this one! It was on the TV a while ago. You really bought this for me?"

"Yeah."

"Will you watch it with me?"

"Um, well, musicals aren't really my thing."

"Oh. Well, I can watch it tonight when you go to work." He smiled. "Thank you, Travis. I can't remember the last time anyone gave me a gift. Well, only Penny ever did and that was years ago. A lot of years."

"I'm glad you like it. I found somewhere we can go out," I added. "There's a kind of bar that does food, too. We could go on Sunday, if you want to."

Arthur's smile widened. "I'd like that."

"Good. You can wear your red suit." I turned away and put my jacket on. I still had my gun tucked into the back of my pants from when I went out earlier. I never left it in the apartment now, in case Arthur got his hands on it again. Five minutes later, I was in my cab looking for fares. So, we had a date on Sunday, and after—who knew what would happen?

A shiver of excitement ran through me, and suddenly I was glad I'd bought that tape and made myself watch it. Maybe the embarrassment would be worth it.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Arthur worked on Sunday. He had one show in the morning and five in the afternoon. I took some sleeping pills and slept until four o'clock. Then I showered, shaved, and put on a new shirt and a pair of smart black trousers I'd bought the day before. My stomach twisted itself into a knot of nerves, and I smoked and drank a beer while I waited for Arthur to get home. It was stupid to get so worked up over a date. I didn't remember being that nervous when I took Betsy out that one time. I was too busy fawning over her like a stupid puppy, waiting to be kicked in the teeth.

I ran a hand through my hair, then checked the bathroom mirror to make sure I hadn't messed it up. It wasn't so much the date that made me anxious. We would go to the bar, have a couple of drinks and some food, and talk, the same as we always talked. It was what might happen when we got home that made my heart pound and my palms sweat. Was Arthur nervous too, I wondered?

He walked in the door a few minutes' later, placed his bag of puppets in the corner, and took off his jacket. He seemed the same as always—a little slumped, dragging his feet, struggling to force the tiniest smile onto his face.

"You all right?" I asked him.

He nodded and the smile became more genuine. "It was a good day. I got some tips." He paused and looked me up and down. "Are those new clothes?"

"Yeah." I chuckled awkwardly.

"You look nice. I like the shirt."

"Thanks."

"What time are we going out?"

"Seven?"

Arthur nodded, found some clothes, and disappeared into the bathroom. I made myself sit down and try to relax while I watched the news. There was less about Joker and more about the continuing Gotham riots. The death of James Pearson didn't even get a mention. I lit a cigarette.

Arthur was in the bathroom a long time. I heard water running and imagined him washing himself, which led to me remembering how we'd showered together. My dick stiffened and I fought to put it out of my mind. We hadn't done anything in the last couple of days. Arthur hadn't been in the mood, and I'd been tired and anxious. His nausea had ended, and he was putting off starting on the anti-psychotic drugs for fear of additional side effects.

The water stopped running in the shower. More time passed. I glanced at my watch. He'd been in there an hour. Perhaps he was nervous, too, and hiding.

Eventually, the door opened, and he came out, wearing the red suit with a darker red waistcoat and a cream shirt. He had on his one good pair of brown and black brogues. He was freshly shaved, and his hair had almost dried, he'd been in the bathroom so long. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

I got up quickly. "You look—" I wasn't sure what to say. To a woman, I'd say "pretty" or "beautiful." It didn't seem right to say that to a man, although he was kind of beautiful right now.

"Is it too much?" He smoothed down the fronts of his jacket. "You asked me to wear it."

"No. No, it's perfect. You look good. Amazing, actually."

"Oh! Thank you." His smile became more genuine. "I haven't done this before."

"I know that, Arthur. I haven't either." I rested my hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. "Let's just make it up as we go along."

"That's a good idea."

I put on my blazer, and we headed out. I'd decided to drive rather than walk or get the train. I had no intention of drinking so much that I couldn't drive later, for fear I'd be even worse in bed than I imagined. A couple of beers would do—I wouldn't touch the hard stuff.

When we reached the car, I opened the passenger side door for Arthur, the same way I would have for a woman. It didn't occur to me to do anything different. I worried then that he wouldn't like it; that he'd think I was treating him like a woman, but he slid into the seat and shot me a smile.

"Thanks."

I shut the door and hurried around the other side of the car, wondering if Arthur was being virtually choked by butterflies the same way I was.

Traffic was light with it being Sunday, and I was able to park down an alley a little way down the block from the club. I wondered if I should have booked a table, but when we went in, only a third of the tables were occupied. A waiter in a dinner suit greeted us.

"Can I get you a table?"

"Yes, thanks, we haven't booked," I answered.

Arthur gazed about him, looking a little like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Perhaps I should have taken his hand—I could have, and no one would have cared. All the other guests were male couples. But I shoved my hands into my pockets instead, too worried about a display of affection in public, even one as minor as hand-holding.

"Please come this way."

We were shown to a table in the far corner away from the windows, for which I was grateful. I wouldn't want to be sitting by the window, visible from the outside, and have Wizard or God forbid, Dave, pass by and see me. The room was dimly lit with a small lamp on each table, making it intimate and discreet at the same time. I sat down and wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs.

"Would you like to order some drinks?" the waiter offered.

"Thanks, I'll have a beer," I said

"A lemonade, please," Arthur added.

I glanced around as the waiter walked away. No one else was near us. The tables were all positioned around the sides of the room, leaving an empty space in the middle for a dance floor. Music was provided by a pianist and a saxophone player at one end of the room.

I looked about me again. A couple on the other side of the dance floor held hands across the table, leaning close and whispering to each other. Another pair sat on the same side of the table as each other, cuddling and exchanging little kisses. I had to relax and stop being so uptight. No one in here cared. It was a gay club, for Christ's sake, with not a woman in sight anywhere.

Arthur lit a cigarette with shaking hands, his face betraying his anxiety. I pulled myself together, helped myself to a smoke, then took one of his hands in mine. He jumped and snatched his hand back.

"Hey. It's okay. We can relax in here. Everyone else is the same." I said softly, reassuring myself as much as him.

"Sorry." He placed his hand back on the table and cautiously extended one finger to brush my knuckles. I turned my hand over, offering my palm. After a moment, he placed his hand in it. "Sometimes I've been called a fag just from the way I looked or behaved. I've never done anything like this. It's strange being able to sit here and hold your hand and not worry someone might attack me."

"I know. I feel the same." I took a deep breath and smiled. "I need to relax, too. I'm as nervous as you are, Arthur."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Let's just enjoy the evening, okay? Not worry about how things are outside this building. We're safe in here. No one's looking and if they do, they don't care."

"Your drinks, Sirs." Smiling, the waiter placed our drinks on the table, along with two menus. Arthur's nails dug into my hand, but he didn't pull his away again. The waiter left us.

"I don't know if I'll be able to eat much," Arthur said.

"We don't have to. I looked at the menu in the window when I first saw this place." I opened my menu and indicated the first section entitled "Lite Bites." It had things like chicken wings, shrimp, pate and crackers, cheeses, and so on. "We could get a selection of these to share. Just snacks, really."

"Don't you want a proper meal? Like a steak or something?"

"No." I squeezed his hand. "Nibbles are fine. I don't want this to be all awkward and formal. We can just have a couple of drinks, eat bits of what we want, and listen to the music."

"Thank you, Travis." Much to my surprise, Arthur lifted up my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles. "You always seem to know what I need. We haven't even known each other that long."

"I spend more time with you than I've ever spent with anyone. I pay attention." I drew his hand to my lips and kissed it in return. Then I opened his menu and placed it in front of him. "Why don't you pick two items and I'll pick two? Then we'll ask them to bring enough of each for us to share."

"Okay."

We ordered chicken wings, shrimp, mini ribs, and nachos with cheese and salsa. While we waited for the food, we held hands and sipped our drinks, barely talking. I couldn't think of anything to say, and Arthur continued to glance around him, his face anxious. His gaze fixed on something to his right and I took a quick look. Two men were on the dance floor, moving around in a slow two-step. Arthur's face softened as he watched. He'd said once he liked dancing and I'd seen him perform a few steps on occasion. I hated dancing with a passion and wasn't very good.

"Can we dance later?" he asked softly. "I've never danced except in my apartment back in Gotham."

"Sure, if you want to. I'm not very good. You might have to lead." Maybe I wouldn't hate every minute of it this time, because I wanted to please him.

Arthur snickered. "I'm a good dancer. You can copy me."

The food arrived in four dishes, and we were given plates to eat off. I released Arthur's hand and picked up my fork instead. Suddenly, I was starving, and my nerves had finally settled.

As usual, Arthur didn't eat much. He didn't like cheese, so he only picked out a couple of nachos without any on, but he had a couple of each of the other items. I filled my plate, trying not to look greedy, but eager to stuff myself.

"Didn't you eat today?" Arthur teased.

"No, I was sleeping. Didn't want to fall asleep on you tonight."

He giggled. "I never thought I'd get to do anything like this before I met you."

"Me neither."

"You know if you hadn't come along that night, I'd be back in Arkham right now. That's where they would have taken me after they charged me. The cops in that car thought I was crazy. I was laughing. All those people applauding me. All the fires." He snorted quietly. "It was like Bonfire Night in England."

"Arthur, you shouldn't talk about that. Not in public, anyway."

"What, Bonfire Night? No one knows what I mean."

"I meant, that night."

Arthur grinned. "Did you see me on the TV?"

"Yes." I glanced around, uncomfortable. No one was in earshot, and the music was loud enough to drown out our conversation unless someone was standing right by our table.

"I felt as if the whole world was watching me. Just me in the spotlight. For a few minutes, they were all looking at me. Even Murray took a backseat." He chuckled again and picked up a shrimp. "You've stopped eating." He held it up in front of my lips. "Come on, you're starving, right? I'll shut up, I promise."

I opened my mouth and he popped the shrimp into it.

"I couldn't help thinking about it, that's all. I kind of feel like I did that night. Not that anyone's watching, but I feel like I could do anything. I feel like I have your attention and that's more important than anything."

I couldn't help smiling, then. "Let's hope that if anyone's looking when we dance, they're looking at you and not me, or they'll be laughing. I'll probably fall over my own feet."

"Is everything all right?" The waiter appeared at the table.

"Very good, thanks," I answered.

"Can I get you any more drinks?"

Arthur shook his head. "I'll have another beer," I said. I needed one, after the reminder of what Arthur could be like when he was Joker. I'd been fascinated by him then, when I was an outsider looking in. Now I wasn't sure I wanted to see that persona again, at least not out in public where he could bring trouble on us.

The waiter brought my beer and took away the mostly empty plates. Arthur excused himself to go to the bathroom and when he returned, he hovered by the table. "Can we dance now?"

I gulped half of my beer. "All right. Be warned. I'm pretty bad." I got up and followed him onto the dance floor, where four other couples were now dancing. At least there were enough people moving around for the others at the tables to take less notice of me.

The musicians switched to a slow tune and I relaxed a little. The other couples seemed to be merely shuffling together. I could shuffle without tripping over.

"Put your hand on my waist. Here. And hold this hand." Arthur put my hands where he wanted them.

"I know this part. It's the footwork I need instruction on." I drew him closer, my right arm around his waist.

"That's easy. It's just a step forward." He stepped back and guided me to follow. I loosened my grip on him and looked down between us, at my feet. "Now your left. Now back. And your right. Forward, left, back, right."

I repeated the words in my head as I moved my feet, aware that I probably wouldn't be able to talk to him while I concentrated.

"Relax." Arthur laughed quietly. "You're rigid."

"I'm counting." I went forward instead of back and trod on his foot. "Sorry."

He laughed again. "Stop looking down. Look at me and move with me. Come closer." He slid his hand from my shoulder around my neck and brought his body against mine. "Look in my eyes."

"If I do that, I won't be thinking about dancing."

He smirked, all confidence. "That's a good thing. Your feet will move on their own. Come on, move with me. Just listen to the music."

Somehow, I found myself dancing, even managing to turn a few times when Arthur guided me. I held him closer, my arm tight around his waist. It wasn't so bad after all, and it made him happy. That seemed to be all that mattered.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

We danced to four tunes before we returned to the table. By then I'd got the hang of it enough to lead properly, and the smile didn't leave Arthur's face the whole time. He looked genuinely happy and that didn't happen often. It made it worth me feeling like a fool on the dance floor at the start.

I finished my beer at the table and held his hand. We stayed another hour and danced some more. The tunes were faster, and Arthur taught me some different steps. We left about eleven o'clock and walked down the street towards the alley. I heard footsteps behind us a second before someone shouted out; "Fucking fags!"

Arthur's smile vanished and his shoulders hunched as we carried on walking. "Take no notice," I told him.

"Your sort should be stoned to death!" another voice called out.

The first one added, "Or shot. Filthy pigs, fucking each other's shitholes!"

We turned into the alley. Instinct almost had me turning around to confront them, but I didn't want a fight. I didn't want Arthur to potentially get hurt. But the thugs weren't giving up and followed us towards the car. I opened the passenger door for Arthur.

"Hey! We're talking to you." One of the thugs came closer. He had a knife in his hand—a switchblade—and a cold fist formed in my stomach. So, this was the type of treatment I'd have to deal with if I wanted to be with Arthur. This was what he'd already had to put up with, even without being with someone.

I slipped my hand to my back under my jacket to get my gun. It took me a moment to register that I'd felt it being tugged free of my waistband a second ago. The click of the safety coming off made me glance down. Arthur faced me, his arm under mine.

"Fuck," I muttered. I flinched as he fired, and the thug behind me howled as he crashed to the ground. "Arthur, give that to me."

He raised an eyebrow and grinned, cocky again, but pulled his arm back and offered me the gun. I turned, just in time to see the second guy charging me with his own knife. Another couple of seconds and it would have been embedded in my back. I pulled the trigger and hit him in the stomach. He fell, screaming, beside his pal. It would only be a matter of time before the cops came. On a quiet Sunday night in particular, gunshots would draw a lot of attention.

I fired again—twice in quick succession. Our attackers were silenced, and Arthur was laughing. "That sure shut them up!"

"Arthur, get in the car." I ran around to the driver's side and got behind the wheel. I started the engine, while Arthur continued to laugh, arms outstretched in that pose I remembered from when he danced on the cop car. "Get in the car, Arthur!" I bellowed.

In a second, he was in the seat beside me. I slammed my foot down and we rocketed to the other end of the alley. In moments, we were well away, halfway home. Arthur continued to laugh.

"That was so fucking funny! You didn't see his face; you were looking at me. He had this look of disgust. You know, thinking about what we might be doing later, and then the bullet hit him and his expression changed to, 'Oh my God, he shot me!' I wish I had a photograph." He bent double, his laughter filling the car.

"Jesus, Arthur." My heart raced, and I repeatedly glanced in my mirrors to check we weren't being chased by cops.

"You don't think it was funny? Those guys wanted to hurt us. They probably hang around that club waiting for people like us to come out. Men who just want to enjoy being together. They wanted to ruin it. They wanted us bleeding and dying in that alley, because they think we deserved it, just for being different. They wanted us dead so they could laugh at the filthy fags lying in the dirt. Well, we're the ones laughing now. They got what they deserved." He stopped talking and more peals of laughter almost deafened me.

"All right, Arthur. Take it easy. They got what they deserved; you're right."

A few minutes later, I parked the car and we headed up to the apartment. Arthur had stopped laughing, but the grin on his face was as manic as the one he'd emphasised with blood that night I first saw him. His eyes sparkled, and he bounded up the stairs in front of me.

The moment we got inside, he slammed the door closed, grabbed me by the shoulders, and pushed me back against it. "I've been wanting to do this all night." His lips met mine, and he groaned with pleasure as our tongues met.

The adrenalin still pumping through me, and the sudden passionate kiss had my blood rushing south. I slid my arms around Arthur and kissed him back, as he pressed his body against mine and let me feel his erection.

I'd thought about what might happen when we got back from the club. I'd imagined us kissing, taking off our clothes, touching, both a little hesitant, wondering how far things would go. I hadn't predicted Arthur being in such a rush, but he wasn't his usual self, of course. He was Joker without the face paint, and he couldn't wait.

As we kissed and ground against each other, he fumbled with his clothes, somehow managing to shed his jacket, waistcoat, and shoes, and my jacket, without our lips separating once. He plucked the gun from my waistband and dropped it somewhere, then began to unfasten my shirt. Finally, he broke the kiss so he could attack my belt buckle.

"We've got all night," I said breathlessly. "We don't have to rush this."

"I want it." He turned his attention to his own belt, deftly unbuckling, unzipping, and shoving both trousers and underwear down his thighs. His erection slapped against the bottom of his shirt. "I want you so bad. I don't want to wait."

"Arthur, I want you, too, but I don't want to go so fast we don't notice what we're doing." I finished unfastening my shirt and shrugged it off.

"I want you to fuck me, Travis. I'm ready." Arthur backed away, tossed his shirt aside, kicked his trousers and underwear off, and lifted one foot to pull off his sock. His eyes sparkled as he looked up at me, and his lips, red from our kisses, stretched into a wide smile again. "Please don't make me wait."

"Unfold the bed." My dick ached, despite my reservations, and I finished undressing while he folded out the bed, put a sheet on it, and placed the cushions we used as pillows, on top. I found the lube and put it on the cabinet beside the bed.

Arthur stretched out on the bed, one knee raised and his legs slightly apart. His dick lay hard and glistening against his stomach, and he idly stroked his chest with one hand. He looked sexy, and suddenly I was as eager as he was. I'd never done this—not like this anyway. Not with a man, and not with someone who wanted me this much. I lay down beside him and pulled him into my arms. He draped one leg over my hip and pressed himself close, his erection sliding against mine. I had to remind myself it was his first time. He seemed so confident, and so eager. I remembered what I'd seen in the video as I coated my fingers in lube and reached down. I had to take my time, no matter how desperate he was. No matter how desperate I was.

Arthur squirmed and sighed as I stroked the tip of one finger down the crack of his arse and brushed his anus. I circled it and he twitched and shivered. When I gently pressed in, grasping heat closed around my finger to the knuckle, and I hissed out a breath of pleasure. What that would feel like on my dick. Jesus Christ.

Arthur slid his hand between us and curled his fingers around my shaft, giving me some much-needed friction as I added a second finger to stretch him. His eyes darkened and the smile on his face slipped a little. I leaned in and caressed his lips with mine. He closed his eyes and melted into it, his body relaxing in my arms. I withdrew my fingers, pushed his hand off me, and reached for the lube again. This was it. I was about to be inside him.

I rolled us over, my knees between his. I hadn't thought about what position would be best. There had been several in the video, but the missionary was the one I was used to. I guided his knees up either side of me, and grasped my dick, ready to push it into him. I nudged him, behind his balls, and slid farther back. Right there.

Arthur's eyes flew wide open and he sucked in a breath, his whole body suddenly frozen beneath me. I stopped, my tip pressed up against his hole, not inside, just resting there. Damn, I wanted to thrust in so bad it hurt, but something was suddenly wrong.

"Arthur?" I kissed his jaw. "Look at me."

He began pushing at my chest, struggling to get me off him. "No, no, I can't. Don't. Don't! Stop! Get off me!"

I rolled off immediately and sat up, my erection shrinking.

Arthur sat up, screeches of laughter bursting from him. He dragged his fingers through his hair, slid off the bed, and began to pace in the small area between the door and the kitchen counter. His dick was already soft, his face agonised. His laughter became louder and more hysterical. Strands of hair came out, tangled around his fingers, and he clawed at the sides of his face.

"Jesus, Arthur." I leapt up, not sure whether to grab him or if it would upset him more. I found my trousers and put them on. "Arthur, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. Everything's all right."

"It's not all right! It's not! Everything's wrong!" The words burst out of him amongst more laughter, causing him to gasp and choke.

"Shut up!" a distant voice bellowed from one of the other rooms.

Arthur laughed more, then walked to the door and smashed his forehead into it. He did it twice more before I reached him.

"Stop. Arthur, look at me." I turned him carefully and grasped his wrists. "You're going to hurt yourself. Look at me. I'm not gonna do anything. You're okay."

His eyes were wild and unfocused, his breathing harsh and uneven. His chest heaved as he sucked in air, but the laughing stopped. Then tears spilled from his eyes and he tugged against my hold, trying to turn away. I let go. He crawled into the middle of the bed and curled up, wrapped his arms around himself, and sobbed.

Shit. I had no idea what to do. I found the blanket we used on the bed and covered him up, then sat beside him, lightly resting my hand on his shaking shoulder. What had gone wrong? I went over the events of the last few minutes. He had instigated everything, but I went along with it. I hadn't made much effort to slow things down. He'd never done it before, and he obviously panicked at the last minute. But I sensed there was more to this.

I wished I knew more. I wished I knew what to say. If only I was better at talking to people about anything other than superficial stuff. How could I help him?

His sobs reduced to sniffles. "I'm s-sorry," he whimpered. "I spoiled it. I spoiled everything."

"No, you didn't, Arthur. Everything's fine." I gently rubbed his back. "I think we rushed things. It doesn't matter."

"It does matter. I wanted tonight to be perfect." He turned his head and looked up at me. "I thought it would be okay. I wanted it so much. You should leave. Find somebody else. Somebody normal. Somebody without all my problems."

"That's not happening, Arthur. I'm not going anywhere." I found one of his hands and squeezed it. "I don't want anybody else, so don't think that."

"Then there are some things I need to tell you."

"Okay. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?" Apparently, I was going to have to get good at this, and quickly.

Arthur gulped and his gaze slid away from mine. "I thought it was in the past. Forgotten. I didn't even remember any of it until I read my file from Arkham."

"When was this?"

"A little while before—" He rubbed a hand over his face. "Before everything happened. You know, before that night. Before I killed Penny."

"What happened, Arthur?" I asked softly, suddenly terrified.

"I was, um, I was—" He stopped again and more tears spilled over. "I was abused," he whispered.

"What are you saying?" I whispered back. My heart was in my mouth and I felt sick. I knew what he was going to say.

"I was raped."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

I didn't know what to say. My first instinct was to wrap my arms around him, but maybe he wouldn't want that. He just freaked out and told me the worst thing he could have told me. But usually he liked cuddling, and he liked everything else we'd done so far.

I got up and found the T-shirt and pyjama pants he liked to sleep in, then placed them on the bed next to him. "Do you want to put these on?"

Slowly, he sat up. I turned the other way and remained with my back to him while I lit two cigarettes. When I turned back, he had the clothes on and was sitting on the bed with his arms wrapped around his knees.

"You didn't have to turn your back. I've been naked in front of you before." He took the cigarette I offered him and drew smoke into his lungs, then blew it out of his nose.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do."

"I shouldn't have told you that."

"I think you kind of had to." I sat next to him on the bed again.

"I lied to you." Arthur sucked in another lungful of smoke. I waited for him to continue. "I said it would be my first time with you."

"You didn't lie." I rubbed the back of my neck, more uncomfortable than I'd ever been in my life. How would I talk to him about this? "With me, it's your first time wanting to, right?"

"I guess."

"Do you want to tell me anything about it?"

He shook his head. "Not really. Only enough so you understand. It wasn't recent."

"Okay."

"I was twelve. I was in one of the many care homes the system put me in. One of the managers—" He shuddered. "I was weak and skinny, and much smaller than I am now. I couldn't do anything about it. Penny's boyfriend did some stuff to me, too, but not that."

"Did you tell anyone? At the home?" I asked carefully.

"No. They wouldn't have believed me. I was the crazy one. Besides, he said he'd kill me if I breathed a word of it to anyone. It went on for about three months before they moved me somewhere else. I got more and more hysterical as time went on, and they couldn't handle me."

"Fuck, Arthur, I'm sorry," I groaned.

"No, I'm sorry. Even though I read it in that file, it was like reading about somebody else. I didn't feel anything. I thought I'd be okay tonight, but when we were—" He stopped and smoked the last of the cigarette. "When we were about to do it, I remembered what it felt like before. It hurt so much. So I couldn't let you. I panicked."

I couldn't think of anything to say except for "I'm sorry," so I didn't say anything. Instead, I reached for his hand and squeezed it. He pulled away and got up.

"Travis, I think I should leave. I'm no good for you. I can't give you what you want. You've done so much for me, and I'm too much trouble."

My already aching heart sank. How long had I known him? A couple of weeks? The days had all merged into one since we left Gotham. I doubted it was even that long. But somehow, he'd got under my skin and the thought of him leaving wasn't something I wanted to contemplate, or deal with. I got off the bed and cornered him in the small space between the cabinet and the bathroom door. "Listen to me, Arthur."

"It's for the best."

"Best for who? You?" I gripped his shoulders, not too tightly. "What are you gonna do, Arthur? You can't even afford a room on your own yet. You don't have anywhere to go, and you wouldn't make it out there. You'd end up back in a place like Arkham, or dead."

"It's better for you," he said dully.

"Is that what you think? Do you think that just because we can't have sex, I won't want you anymore?"

He shrugged.

"I didn't expect this to happen. I thought we'd share this place for a while until we got sorted and maybe move on separately later. I don't know. I hadn't thought beyond escaping being arrested. But now—I like you, Arthur. I care about you. I want you here, with me."

"But I can't—" He flushed and avoided my eyes. "I like being with you so much. You make me feel wanted. I feel safe here. I never had that. And I like what we do together. But it's not enough for you. Surely you want somebody who can give you more."

"It is enough," I said firmly. "Look at me." I gripped his chin and tilted his head up, so he met my eyes again. "It's enough. You're not going anywhere."

He stared back at me for a long moment, and I expected him to argue some more. But suddenly he slid both arms up around my neck and pressed his face against my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tight, sagging with relief. It meant more to me than I realised, that he was staying.

We stayed that way for a long time, holding each other, not talking anymore. Eventually, I loosened my grip on him and he lifted his head.

"You want to try and get some sleep?"

"Okay." He stepped away from me. "I'll take some pills."

I waited while he filled a cup at the sink and swallowed two sleeping pills. I didn't bother with them myself. I took off my trousers again and put my underwear back on. Arthur got into bed and I turned off the light before joining him.

As I lay there with him in my arms, his back to my chest as usual, I remembered we'd killed two men that evening. Two thugs lay dead in an alley and we hadn't even thought about it afterwards. All we'd wanted to do was get home and have sex, and then it had all been about Arthur's terrible past. He'd been manic on the drive back—his Joker character took over completely in the way he laughed and ranted, then pounced on me like a starving man.

I resolved to encourage him to start taking his other medication the next day. Episodes like that could bring a whole load of trouble on us. Who knew what he would do one day if the mood took him? He was the one to fire the first shot when we got attacked. Would I have done anything differently? Maybe; probably. I'd have pulled the gun and threatened them with it, tried to make them back off so I could get in the car, rather than pull the trigger without thinking. The way things were going, we could end up with a trail of dead bodies all over New York.

"You're not sleeping," Arthur said softly. He sounded drowsy, as if the pills were starting to draw him under.

"I'm just thinking."

"About me?"

"Yeah. And what started this tonight. You weren't yourself for a while."

"I know." He covered my hand where it rested on his chest. "It's like another person hidden inside me that comes out sometimes. It makes me feel confident, like I could do anything. That's what made everything go wrong tonight. You were right. We should have slowed down, but when I'm like that, I don't think about what happens next. Only how I feel at the time. And how I felt after we had dinner, and danced, was that I wanted you so much I couldn't think about anything else. I just wanted to get naked and for you to—you know." He paused and laced his fingers through mine before he continued. "Then that part of me vanished and I was just me again. Just plain old me. I remembered how awful it was before, and I thought it would be like that again.

"When I was younger, the doctors thought it was schizophrenia at first, that made me like two different people, but it's not. It's just the result of a head injury—the same thing that makes me laugh. I'll start taking the other pills tomorrow. They don't stop the laughing, but they stop me acting crazy."

"That's good." I hugged him tighter. "You won't ever have to worry about me hurting you like that. You know that, don't you? I love what we do, and it doesn't have to be any more than that. Just remember something. I've never done any of this before, so I'm not missing what I've never tried. I like just being with you."

"You're amazing," Arthur murmured. "Did I ever thank you for helping me that night?"

"Yeah, you did." I kissed his ear.

Suddenly, he turned onto his back and looked up at me. "Travis, we killed two men tonight. I don't even feel bad about it. In fact, I forgot about it the moment we got back here. Does that make me awful? They're dead and I don't care."

"They wanted to hurt us. I don't feel bad either," I admitted. "But we can't keep doing that. The intention was to leave all that behind in Gotham."

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I was the one who finished them off. I don't think there was any other choice at the time."

"Do you think the police will come after us?"

"I doubt it. As far as I know, nobody saw us park there or walk back to the car. It was a quiet evening. When they find them, because of where it was, they might just think they were a gay couple who were killed for what they were."

"Not if they have wives or girlfriends."

"That doesn't mean anything. Men with wives and girlfriends still go with other men on the quiet if they're that way inclined."

"Yes, I suppose." Arthur yawned, then fell silent. I closed my eyes and listened to his breathing slow and grow heavier. Eventually, I drifted away to join him.

Despite having taken sleeping pills, Arthur was up before me in the morning. A sound woke me, and I opened my eyes to see him making coffee. He was already eating a slice of toast. When he finished it, he took his anti-depressants, then opened another bottle of pills and took one.

"Hey." My voice croaked and I cleared my throat.

"Oh, you're awake." He poured another cup of coffee and brought it to me. "I took one of my pills—the anti-psychotic ones. I think it'll be about a month before they take full effect."

"That's okay." I sat up and took the coffee. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I just worry that I'm too much trouble. Are you sure you want this in your life?"

I smiled. "I want _you_ in my life."

"I don't think I'm worth it."

"You are to me. Come and sit down." He sat. I put my coffee on the cabinet and cupped his face in my hands. He closed his eyes with a sigh as I moved in to kiss him. His lips parted and his tongue brushed mine in response. I drew back. "I'm not going anywhere, Arthur. Nor are you."

The hint of a smile pulled at he corners of his mouth. "I'm glad I met you."

"Me too."

"Do you want some breakfast?"

"Yes, what is there?"

"Bacon sandwich?"

"Sounds good."

Arthur got up and started cooking bacon. I finished my coffee, lit a cigarette, and switched on the TV. The news was still reporting on the Gotham riots and the state of the country's economy. The two dead bodies found in the alley got a small segment at the end, as if they didn't matter. There were no witnesses and no explanation. We got away with it—again.

"It sounds like they don't even care," Arthur said. "Two people get shot in an alley, and no one cares?"

"There are seven million people in this city. If they're nobody important, they'll be forgotten if there's no evidence of what happened."

"They're still talking about Murray Franklin." Arthur snickered. "I should feel bad about that, at least, but I don't. One of my therapists once said I was a psychopath. I was asked about what I would do in certain situations, and they didn't like my answers. I was in Arkham then. It was before they got my meds sorted. They said I had a complete lack of empathy, and no sense of guilt or remorse."

"If that's the definition of a psychopath, then I'm with you." I decided it was time to change the subject. He'd started taking his medication again, and we would carry on as we were. Things would be okay—I was sure of it.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Waking up with Arthur at a normal time, rather than me coming in at five or six in the morning and getting a couple of hours in bed with him was good, despite the circumstances. I decided to work days for a while so my schedule would coincide better with his. After what he'd told me, and with him starting his new medication, I didn't want to leave him alone all the time. I earned less money during the day, but it didn't matter. I had plenty for what I needed.

From Monday to Friday, I worked from ten until six, then made my way home, usually picking up food on the way. Arthur didn't question it, but every time he looked at me, it seemed to be with gratitude.

When we ate together, he tried to eat a reasonable amount of food, and after just one week he looked healthier, with more colour in his face and a little bit more flesh on him. I wondered if he bothered to eat at all when I wasn't home. A piece of toast was enough to take his medication.

Nothing happened between us. We spent the nights in each other's arms, and I took a single sleeping pill every night to help me stay drowsy for longer. We exchanged brief little kisses of greeting when we woke up, or when we arrived home, but that was all. After the culmination of our night out, I feared kissing him more deeply or touching him in case I upset him. The fact that we'd got each other off a few times before didn't register.

By the next weekend, Arthur started to suffer from the side effects of the new medication. Sometimes his muscles twitched, or his legs would cramp, and he'd have to get out of bed and walk about. He complained he was always thirsty and drank water as if he were trying to drain the supply to the block.

"Do you think you should see a doctor?" I asked him on Saturday, after we'd both finished working for the day.

"No." He shook his head. "It's normal. Muscle spasms, dry mouth, weight gain, dizziness, blurred vision, and other stuff. I'm lucky this time. It's just the first two."

"You're gaining weight," I added. "Not a lot, but it's noticeable. That's not a bad thing." I ran my hand down his back and felt the slightly less pronounced ridge of his spine. "You seem to be eating more, though."

"I make more effort when you're here. When you worked nights, sometimes I couldn't be bothered. A lot of the time. Old habits. I got so used to not eating when I was a kid—"

"I know," I said softly.

"It's easier with you. It's getting to be a new habit." He leaned against the kitchen counter while I heated some cans of beef stew I'd bought and spread soft cheese on bread—butter on Arthur's slices. "Travis?"

"Yeah?" I turned the heat down on the stove and looked at him. "What's up?"

He flushed and avoided my eyes. "You do still like me, don't you?"

"Of course I do. What—?" I thought about the last few days and realised what he was getting at. "I was scared to. After what you told me, I was worried I'd do something to make things worse for you."

"You won't. It was a long time ago—twenty years. It just seems awful to you because you only just found out. Remember that day when we touched each other? Then we got in the shower and did it again? I loved that. I still want that. I was worried you didn't. I thought that after you found out what happened to me, you didn't want to anymore. Because you're not the first after all."

"I'm sorry, Arthur." The stew hissed and spat, and I turned the heat off completely, before I drew him closer to me. "I still want that, too. I want you. I just didn't know what to do for the best."

He met my gaze and suddenly smiled. "Can we go to bed, then?"

"Now?"

"Yes." He slid his hands up from my chest to my neck and brought our lips together. I kissed him back, slow and gentle until he slid his tongue into my mouth. Then I pulled away.

"Let's get comfortable."

Five minutes later, the bed was made up and we slid under the covers. I was more nervous than I'd been the first time we did anything, and my dick stayed soft. I couldn't stop thinking about the terrible things Arthur had gone through, and how much he'd been hurt. I kissed him, but it was half-hearted, and even the feel of his erection nudging my thigh didn't get me fired up.

"Travis." He cupped my face and met my eyes. "Stop it. Stop thinking about it. I'm fine."

"You a mind reader?"

"You're really obvious right now. You're thinking about what happened to me, and it's making you nervous in case you do something that makes me freak out again. I was fine before, wasn't I? When we first started this?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"And I'm fine now. Stop worrying. Or maybe I'll just take over, shall I?"

I grinned, trying to relax. "Do you want to?"

"Close your eyes." He smiled back. "I know something that will get you out of your own head."

I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes, my pulse quickening. Usually I was the one to reassure Arthur about something. I rarely needed it myself, but I remembered that night when I couldn't sleep, and he stroked my hair. He took care of me then, and he would now. I relaxed and waited to see what would happen.

I felt Arthur's hair brush my face as he moved, then his lips met mine in a gentle caress. His tongue slid along my upper lip and teased the tip of mine. He placed a hand on my chest over my heart, then after a moment lightly stroked his way down to my stomach. The muscles fluttered, and my heartbeat picked up. I lifted my hand to touch him, but he pressed it back down onto the mattress. I lay still, loosely clenching my fists at my sides, as his lips left mine and brushed my throat.

He was so gentle, his fingertips stroking me so lightly they made my skin pebble with goose bumps. Warm breath fanned my neck, then suddenly a sharp spike of pain as he nipped the skin close to my shoulder. I sucked in a breath, and my dick stirred.

"Arthur—"

"Shh." He pushed the sheet back and kissed his way down my chest to my right nipple. I'd never thought of them as erogenous zones, but when his lips and tongue circled it, the small nub stiffened.

"Shit," I gasped.

Arthur chuckled softly, and the mattress moved as he sat up. I started to open my eyes, wanting to see him.

"Keep them closed," he instructed.

I shut them again. This was beyond arousing. Not being able to see what he was doing; only being able to feel and to hear; letting him do what he wanted. My erection rose and pushed against the sheet. Arthur laughed again, a soft happy sound that I didn't hear from him very often. Then he turned his attention to my other nipple and teased it into hardness. I squirmed, suddenly desperate for him to step things up. I imagined him sliding his hands down my body, maybe his mouth too, and stroking me off. I didn't expect him to suddenly slide over me and straddle me, his knees either side of my hips, his erection bumping mine as it swayed in front of him. My eyes shot open.

He flushed but laughed again. "You're not very good at doing what you're told."

"I have to see you. You're fucking driving me crazy."

"You like it, huh?"

"Hell, yes."

He shifted on my lap, getting more comfortable. His sac settled against mine, making it draw up. Then he reached for the lube.

"What are you—?"

"Shh," he repeated. He squeezed some of the fluid into his palm, then slicked up his erection. I stared at it, short and thick, jutting from a neatly trimmed patch of dark hair. I wondered if he was going to jerk off over me, and the thought made me throb. But then he slid his hand around me and brought our shafts together. I groaned and pushed my hips up. I was close, just from these simple touches; surprising given that a few minutes ago I hadn't thought I'd even get hard.

Arthur stroked us together, slow and steady, the lube making us slide easily against each other. I stared unashamedly at him, as the thick dark head of his dick slipped through his fist. He was cut, the same as me, and he oozed precome. I'd seen him before, of course, but I hadn't stared too much. Now I couldn't take my eyes off him, and the sight of our erections together coupled with the feel of his hand and his hard flesh against mine, pulled me towards orgasm. The sound of panting filled the room, and I realised it was me.

"I'm not gonna last much longer," I said breathlessly.

"Don't try. I'm almost there."

I closed my eyes again. I couldn't keep them open, as my groin tightened with the familiar tingling sensation of approaching ejaculation. I rolled my head back on the cushion, my chest heaving. Arthur's thighs squeezed my hips, and warm fluid spattered onto my belly and chest—his, not mine. The feel of him coming tipped me over the edge. I cried out as I shot through his fist and added my mess to his on my own body.

Arthur reached for a pair of discarded underwear to wipe my chest and stomach, then slid off me and stretched out at my side. I opened my eyes and slid my arms around him.

"You're fucking amazing, you know that?"

"You liked it?"

"Fuck, yes, I liked it." I hugged him tighter, and he pressed his face into my neck.

"Sometimes I don't know if I'm enough."

"Don't do that. We had this conversation. I love this. I love what you do to me."

Arthur whispered something back. I couldn't quite make it out, but I could have sworn he said, "I love you." My heart thundered in my chest, and I felt a mixture of panic and elation. If that's what he said, did he mean it, or was it just the aftermath of orgasm? How did I feel? I'd never been in love; never even had the chance to get fond of anybody. I had nothing to compare it to, but in any case, I didn't think I was at that point. I cared about him; I would have done pretty much anything to keep him safe. Other than that—

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," he murmured.

"It's okay." I kissed his ear. "I care about you; you know that, right?" I didn't think about what I was saying. The words came out on their own.

"I know."

I imagined how I would feel if I woke up one morning and he wasn't there. If I came home from work and he wasn't in our room. If we were out one night and some homophobic arseholes attacked us and killed him before I could stop it. If I lost him.

"I'm very fond of you, Arthur," I blurted. "I've never felt like this about anyone. If I lost you, I'd—I don't know what I'd do."

He laughed softly. "You're not going to lose me. And it's enough, what you said. The fact that you care is enough. I've never felt like this before either."

We lay in silence, holding each other, until I remembered the stew was getting cold in the pan and my stomach was empty. I released him and sat up, just as he said, "The stew will be cold."

I laughed and reached for my underwear. Arthur had used his own to wipe us off. I put them on, pulled on a T-shirt, and went to check the food. The stew was still warm, so I poured it into two bowls. Arthur put on his pyjama pants, and we sat on the bed eating while we watched TV.

The news reported the names of the two men we'd killed, and said that one had no known family, while the other was estranged from his due to his violent tendencies. No one missed them. There was no explanation for their deaths, only the suggestion that they'd got in a fight and come off worst.

I glanced at Arthur and smiled. He nodded, and shovelled the last spoonful of stew into his mouth. We were okay. Until the next time.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Arthur worked on Sunday, but only in the afternoon. I drove for a few hours, then after I dropped off my last fare, I headed for the market to meet him, intending to give him a ride home. It was only four o'clock and I'd thought about taking him on another date, but other than the club, I didn't know what else we could do. We could do anything really, but we'd have to behave like friends, nothing more.

I parked down the block from the market entrance and watched for him. The area was quiet, with most stallholders packing up and leaving by four. A few stragglers walked out of the market and headed off in different directions, but I didn't see Arthur. I glanced at my watch and waited another ten minutes before I got out of the car to go and look for him.

I headed into the market, but was immediately stopped by one of the security guys who locked the entrance after everyone had left. "We're closed."

"I know. I'm not shopping. I'm meeting someone."

"You can wait for them out here." Over six foot and almost as wide, he blocked my way. I backed off and walked around the perimeter of the market. The covered stalls were surrounded by a high metal fence, with gates both front and back. The rear gates were close to the area where Arthur did his Punch and Judy act, so I tried that way, but they were locked.

"Shit," I muttered, and walked back around to the front. Arthur had probably come out by now and headed for the subway. He wouldn't know I was here, as I'd planned to surprise him. I gazed up and down the street, and hovered near the front entrance a little longer. He had to have left by now. Another security guy appeared, spoke to the one who'd stopped me, and began closing the gates. Clearly, they'd checked no one was left inside.

Anxiety made my guts churn, and I walked back to the car, continuing to gaze about me in all directions, but there was no sign of him. I didn't think I could have missed him but it was the only explanation. Either he left before I arrived, or he came out of the front gates while I was around the back and walked away quickly enough to be off the street before I came back. I got in the car and drove home.

As I trudged up the stairs to our room, the sense that something was wrong increased. He wasn't home—I knew it. Something had happened to him. I told myself not to be stupid, and that the minute I opened the door, I'd find him drinking a cup of coffee and smoking while he waited for me. I tried the door and found it locked. He wasn't home. Or he was having a bad day and had locked it after him. That sometimes happened.

I unlocked and went in. "Arthur?" The bathroom door was closed, but when I looked around, there was no sign of his jacket and shoes, or his bag of puppets. "Arthur!" I burst into the bathroom, hoping to immediately be chastised for bursting in on him using the toilet, but the room was empty. "Fuck!" I dragged my hands through my hair. "Where are you?"

He had to be on his way home. The simple explanation was that we'd missed each other, and he was on the subway. He'd be here any minute. I lit a cigarette and opened the fridge to get a beer. Then I changed my mind and poured a glass of whisky. I tipped it down my neck in one large gulp, and refilled the glass. My heartrate accelerated and I paced, worrying. I had good instincts about things, and telling myself there was a perfectly innocent explanation didn't work. My imagination went into overdrive. He was lying somewhere hurt, perhaps in an alley, unable to call for help. But how could I look for him? He could be anywhere.

"Fucking Christ," I muttered as I drained the second glass of whisky. I picked up the bottle to pour another, then put it down. I'd be no good to him drunk.

I tried to sit down and watch TV, but I couldn't stay still. I paced and smoked my way through half a pack of cigarettes, my hands shaking as I lit each one. Then suddenly, the door opened.

"Arthur!"

He didn't speak. He closed the door and sat down on the couch, pressing his hands between his knees. Blood from his nose had left a small rivulet down his chin, and his tan jacket was damp and dirty.

"Arthur, what happened?" I sat beside him and touched his arm. He shook his head. I helped him take off his jacket. He flinched as the sleeve pulled over his left hand, and I noticed the side of it was badly grazed. We didn't have a first aid kit, but I got a damp cloth, some tissue paper, and towel from the bathroom. They would have to do.

Arthur didn't move or speak, only flinched a couple of times as I cleaned the graze on his hand and wiped away the dried blood on his face. Then I lit a cigarette for him. He took a couple of drags and breathed out smoke.

"Talk to me." I slid my arm around him. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Not really. A couple of bruises."

"Who did this to you?"

"Just kids. A similar thing happened in Gotham once. I was sign-spinning outside a music store that was closing down. I had my clown suit on. Some kids grabbed my sign and ran off with it. I chased them and they hit me in the face with the sign and kicked me."

"What the hell?"

"Kids don't seem to have any respect these days. Today was the same kind of thing. They were teenagers. I'd just finished my last show and was packing up." A wild laugh burst from him. It went on and on, filling the room and almost choking him. I waited it out until he was able to speak again. "They made fun of me and my puppets. They're all gone." He put his hands over his face and a broken sob left him. I took the cigarette out of his hand to prevent it burning his hair.

"Who's all gone?"

"My p-puppets. They threw them on the ground and stamped on them. I tried to stop them and they turned on me."

"Was no one else around?"

"No. Only an elderly couple and their grandson. They were the last ones to leave the show. They looked scared and left. I thought they might get help, but no one came."

I tugged him against me and held him tight as he wept. He was right—a lot of kids showed no respect for others, and I wanted to find whoever had done this to him and beat them to a pulp. Not that I would, but they deserved it.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," I murmured. "We'll get you some new puppets."

"They cost a lot of money." He sniffled and pulled away. "The ones I had were only a hundred dollars because the old man had them for years."

"It doesn't matter." I stroked his hair and kissed his temple. "I should have come earlier."

"What do you mean?"

"I came to meet you. I was gonna take you out tonight. But the security guy wouldn't let me in. They were ready to lock up. I must have missed you by a few minutes."

Arthur rubbed his hands over his face, then took the remains of the cigarette back and lit a fresh one from the smouldering butt. "Where were you going to take me?"

"Anywhere you wanted. We might have had to just go as friends, but I wanted us to do something nice together."

"Can we still do that?"

"Do you feel like it?" I asked in surprise.

"No, but maybe it will help. Being with you always helps when I feel bad."

"Okay. Maybe we could go to see a movie and get something to eat after."

"That would be nice." Arthur lips twitched a little. He didn't manage to smile, but at least he tried.

"I'll freshen up and get changed." I went into the bathroom, but left the door open as I had a quick wash and put on a fresh shirt and trousers. Arthur sat on the couch and smoked, not talking. I hated that things like this happened to him. He seemed to be a target for the scumbags both in New York and in Gotham. Perhaps people just didn't like clowns and entertainers anymore.

When I was ready, Arthur took his turn in the bathroom. He emerged half an hour later, wearing his red suit and the green shirt he'd worn on the Murray Franklin show, but without the waistcoat.

"You look good." I drew him towards me and gave him a quick kiss.

"I don't feel very good but these clothes help."

We saw Raiders of the Lost Ark at the theatre. I let Arthur choose the movie and didn't make suggestions that might influence him. I fancied Chariots of Fire, but he clearly didn't when he read the summary of it. The adventure movie was good, though, and Arthur even smiled a few times. We sat at the end of a row of seats, with the theatre about half full, and discreetly held hands in the darkness. We ate popcorn and shared a large cup of lemonade. When we walked out, Arthur seemed better.

"Harrison Ford's really good," he said. "Did you see him in Apocalypse Now?"

"No. I don't see a lot of movies." I couldn't remember going to see movies at all in Gotham; only at the porn theatre.

"It was a war movie set in Vietnam."

I grimaced, immediately transported back there in my head. Strangely, I hadn't thought about it in the past few weeks.

"You were there," Arthur remembered. "I'm sorry. You probably wouldn't have like it."

I shook my head. "I can do without reminders."

"If you ever want to talk about it, you can. You're always there for me, no matter how crazy I get. I might not be good at much, but I can listen."

"Thanks. Maybe someday. What do you want to eat?"

"After all that popcorn? Not much."

"How about some pie and coffee in a diner?" I suggested.

Arthur nodded. "That sounds good. I like apple pie."

"Me too."

We walked to a diner halfway between the theatre and the apartment. A handful of people were in there, but plenty of empty tables waited. We took one in a corner away from the windows, and immediately a waitress came over.

"What can I get you two fellas?"

"Do you have apple pie?" I asked.

"Sure thing."

"Two slices of apple pie and some coffee, please."

"You want cream or ice cream on the pie?"

"Cheese," I said.

"Cheese?" Arthur and the waitress echoed at the same time.

"Yeah. You know the little cheese slices that go in burgers? Can you put one on the pie and melt it?"

"Sure. Whatever you want." The waitress wrote something on her notepad. "And you?" she directed at Arthur. "You want cheese too?"

"Oh, no. Cream, please."

She went away and came back seconds later with a jug of coffee, poured us some, and left again.

"Cheese? On apple pie?" Arthur leaned forward across the table, eyes wide. "Isn't that weird?"

"Weird and nice."

"Okay. Maybe I should try it."

"You don't like cheese," I reminded him.

"There is that."

The pie arrived a few minutes later, my slice with melted cheese on it just the way I liked. Arthur watched in fascination as I shovelled a forkful into my mouth and groaned with pleasure.

When the pie was gone, we had refills of coffee and I got out my cigarettes, lit two, and passed one to Arthur. My fingers brushed his as I handed it to him.

"Trav!"

I jumped and snatched my hand back at the sound of Wizard's voice. Shit.

"Hey." I nodded at him.

"What you doing in here?" He eyed Arthur curiously.

"I could say the same to you. Not your usual haunt," I pointed out.

"I saw you through the window." His brows drew together and he half-nodded in Arthur's direction. "Who's this?"

"My buddy. Arthur." I sucked in a lungful of smoke. "This is Wizard," I told Arthur. "Fellow taxi driver."

"Hello," Arthur said.

Wizard turned his frown on Arthur. "How'd you know our Travis?"

"I, um, we, um—" Arthur stuttered, and laughed suddenly. He clamped his hands over his mouth, but his guffaws continued, barely smothered.

"I helped him out one day when he was in trouble," I put in. I stretched out my foot under the table and rubbed the toe of my shoe against Arthur's calf. He jumped, shaking his head. "He has a condition," I continued. "Inappropriate laughter due to a head injury. Don't sweat it."

"I wasn't." Wizard stared warily at Arthur. "He looks kind of familiar."

"Maybe you gave him a ride one day." I raised an eyebrow.

"I doubt that. I'd have remembered."

Arthur's laughter subsided and he helped himself to another of my cigarettes with shaking hands. I would have given anything to hold his hand right then, but Wizard was clearly suspicious as it was. The last thing I wanted was for him to realise what was really going on. But then again, I had no plans to end things with Arthur. My old friend may find out sooner or later if he saw us together often, and I knew exactly what his reaction would be. He'd made no secret of his homophobic thoughts in the past.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"Is he really called Wizard?" Arthur asked, after my old friend had left us and gone back to his cab.

"No, his name's Martin."

"So, why do you call him Wizard?"

"Everybody does. He sees a lot and knows a lot. He's always got an answer for everything."

"Are you worried about him seeing you with me?"

"He never made any secret of what he thought about people like us."

"Oh." Arthur shrugged. "I'm used to that. I thought you might be worried he'd seen me on the TV. Maybe he saw me kill Murray."

"That, too." What would Wizard think of me hanging out with a murderer, I wondered? He'd probably be less concerned about that than me "turning gay." He knew I'd killed Sport and those other guys, and he'd said pretty much the same as everybody else—that I was a hero for helping Iris.

"I'm sorry, Travis. Maybe we shouldn't go out together like this. I don't want to make things difficult for you."

I pulled myself together. I didn't want to hurt Arthur, no matter what Wizard or anyone else thought. "No, I'm sorry. I was just unnerved when he turned up, that's all. I'm with you, okay? If he finds out, then he finds out. I'll deal with it. I'm not gonna hide you away."

"Shall we go home?" Arthur finished the last of his coffee and lit two more cigarettes.

I took one and pushed my chair back. "Let's go."

We walked home, smoking and not talking. I got lost in my own head, wondering if it would really matter that much if Wizard found out I was involved with Arthur. It wasn't as if we spent any time together anymore. We didn't work together or hang out. The greater concern was if he realised Arthur was the Arthur from the Murray Franklin show. He was wearing the same clothes, apart from the waistcoat. The face paint had disguised him well enough, but Wizard wasn't stupid. Arthur's laugh was distinctive, and he'd probably remember the sound of it from the TV show.

"You're thinking so loud I can hear it," Arthur said as we walked into the apartment.

"Sorry." I shook myself and pushed my thoughts aside. There wasn't anything I could do about it now. I'd deal with it if Wizard spoke to me again and said anything, whether it was about who Arthur was or what I was doing with him. I opened up my bottle of anti-depressants and swallowed a couple. Arthur did the same, then took his anti-psychotics, too.

I leaned against the tiny kitchen counter and stared at him, taking in every little detail. He was nervous now, and fidgety, running his hands through his hair, shuffling his feet, putting his hands in his pockets, taking them back out.

"Arthur, come here." I gave him a reassuring smile and waited for him to approach me—a whole four steps across the room. "Everything's okay."

"Is it? What if he realises it was me and calls the cops?"

"He wouldn't do that." Wizard wasn't a grass. If he had anything to say, he'd say it to me. I was sure of it.

"Okay. That's good."

"Forget about him." I rested my hands on Arthur's waist and tugged him against me. "We haven't finished our date."

"Oh, I, um—" He laughed, bordering on screechy.

"We don't have to do anything. You gonna let me kiss you, though?"

"You didn't seem like you wanted to. You're distracted."

"Not anymore." I cupped his face in my hands and pressed my lips to his. He slid his arms around me, and his lips parted, inviting me in. All thoughts of Wizard and what he might think went out of my head. It was just Arthur and me in our little room, clinging to each other, kissing each other breathless. My dick stiffened and Arthur's hardness pushed against my thigh. I broke the kiss and met his eyes, the irises deep moss green and the pupils wide. "You want to get undressed?"

He didn't answer but smiled as he backed away and shrugged off his suit jacket. I took off my jacket and shirt, not taking my eyes off him as he began unbuttoning his shirt. Colour flooded into his face, and he chuckled awkwardly as he pulled the unfastened shirt free of his trousers.

"Don't be embarrassed," I murmured.

"You're staring."

"I like looking at you."

"I'm not much to look at."

"You are to me. You turn me on, Arthur."

He snorted, his gaze dropping to the front of my pants.

"Yeah, I know, it's pretty obvious." Unconcerned, I shoved my trousers and underwear down, toed off my shoes, and kicked the garments off. My erection slapped against my belly. I bent quickly to take off my socks. When I straightened, Arthur's shirt was off, and he was taking off his trousers. His dick strained against the front of his underwear. While he finished undressing, I unfolded the couch and made up the bed. I got into it and he joined me moments later, pressing his naked body against mine. I rolled him onto his back and kissed him heatedly, plunging in with my tongue. Eventually, I stopped to breathe. He opened his eyes and met mine.

"Can we, um, can we—?" Colour flooded his face.

"What? Tell me what you want."

"You know that other time, when I freaked out?"

"I don't think we should try that again."

"No, I meant—" He pulled my head down and whispered in my ear. "It was okay with your finger."

My dick pulsed at the thought of touching him like that again, but I was still wary. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes."

I reached for the lube. "Okay, but if you want me to stop, let me know. Don't force yourself to do stuff because you think it'll please me."

"I'm not. I want to." A short laugh escape from him and his brows furrowed. "Ignore that. I'm nervous but I want to try it. Some day I want to be able to have sex."

"Every time we get each other off, we're having sex," I pointed out.

"You know what I mean. Fucking. I want to be able to do it without bad memories spoiling it."

"Okay, Arthur. One step at a time." I squirted lube in my palm and wrapped my hand around his erection. He closed his eyes and groaned. I stroked him lightly, ignoring my own longing to be touched. He squirmed against me and rocked his hips to drive himself harder into my fist. I loosened my grip, and he grunted in frustration. "Don't be so impatient."

"I can't help it. You make me so hard, Travis."

The ache in my groin increased, and I bit back my own groan of impatience. I took my hand off Arthur and grabbed the lube again. "Put your leg over me."

He slid his leg over my hip and shuffled forward until his dick rubbed against me. Slick with lube, it slid against my thigh. He hummed with pleasure and continued gently rolling his hips to give himself some friction.

"You're humping my leg," I murmured. He laughed, soft and amused. With more lube on my fingers, I reached down and ran one fingertip down the crack of his arse. He stilled, his rapid breaths warm on my neck. "Relax. I won't hurt you."

"I know." He slipped his arm around me and held on tight.

My heart thundered in my chest as I touched him, finding the small area of puckered flesh and circling it. Arthur shivered and dug his nails into my back. Then he breathed out, long and slow, and the tenseness went out of him. I pressed in, slowly, carefully, until tight heat gripped my digit to the first knuckle. "Okay?"

"Yes," he whispered. "Keep going."

I slid my finger deeper into him, as far as it would go, then gently pumped it out and in, twisting it a little. The tip brushed a small bump about the size of a walnut, and Arthur gasped. His dick jerked against my leg. "Oh God. Fuck. Do that again."

I nudged the spot again and again. "What is that?"

"My p-prostate." He began humping my leg again, grinding his dick against me as I fucked him with my finger. His grunts and groans of pleasure filled the room. Although I wasn't getting any friction myself, my erection twitched and throbbed with the pleasure I got from seeing and hearing Arthur getting off. He came hard, his fluid spurting over my thigh, and his arse clenching tight around my finger. I waited for him to relax again before I withdrew it.

"Okay?" I whispered.

"Fuck. That was—" He shook his head and giggled. "We have to do that again."

I chuckled. "Any time you want."

He slipped his hand between us and wrapped it around my shaft. "I'm sorry I didn't do anything for you."

"It doesn't matter."

"Can I try something?"

"Like what?" I imagined him sticking his finger up my arse, and involuntarily clenched. Despite the obvious pleasure he'd got from it, it wasn't on my list of things to try anytime soon.

"You'll like it, I promise."

I tensed even more. "Arthur—"

"Just wait and see." He slid out of my arms and pushed the bed covers back. "Close your eyes."

I did as he asked but I held my breath, anxiously awaiting the first touch. After a moment, it came—a warm wet brush across the crown of my dick.

"Shit!" My eyes flew open. He was bent over me, his tongue extended. He grinned, then licked his way down to the root and back up. "Oh fuck, Arthur." I relaxed and closed my eyes again. I'd never had oral sex, either giving or receiving, and it hadn't entered my head that we could do this.

Arthur wrapped his hand around me and began stroking up and down, while he licked and nibbled at the head, and eventually slid it into his mouth. I squirmed and cursed, clenching my fists at my sides. I wanted to push my hips up and drive myself into his throat, but I forced myself to lie still. He started to suck and lick at the same time, while he carried on jerking me frustratingly slowly. My balls pulled up.

"Arthur," I gasped. "You'd better stop. I'm gonna come soon."

He released me for a second. "Stop talking."

"I was just warning you."

He laughed and took me in his mouth again. I closed my eyes and went with it, letting the incredible sensations of being sucked take over. My pulse raced and I felt my orgasm approaching. I expected Arthur to stop then, but as I started to shoot my load, he merely slowed his hand movement and gulped around me, swallowing every drop. When he pulled off and I opened my eyes, he was grinning in a self-satisfied way as if he'd won big on the lottery.

"Jesus. How'd you learn how to do that?"

He sniggered and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I just have a good imagination. I know people do that, so I thought I'd try it. Was it okay?"

"It was fucking amazing." I pulled him down against me and wrapped my arms around him. "You're fucking amazing, Arthur."

"I love you," he said clearly. It wasn't whispered or muffled this time, but firm and determined. "I don't expect you to say it back. But that's how I feel, and I'm not keeping it to myself."

I brushed my lips across his and caught a faint taste of myself. Surprisingly, it didn't seem that bad. "One day I'll say it back," I said. "And I'll mean it."

He hugged me tighter. "You make me happy, Travis. I've never been happy before."

I held him tighter in return. I'd never been a very happy person either, especially not since Vietnam, but Arthur made a difference. I'd saved him from arrest because I was fascinated, and I hadn't expected any of what had happened after that night. Now, I was so glad I'd gone looking for the killer clown. I couldn't imagine my life without him anymore.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

I didn't expect to dream that night. I didn't think I'd sleep much because I couldn't be bothered to get out of bed to take a sleeping pill. Warm and comfortable with Arthur in my arms, languishing in the aftermath of a powerful orgasm, I didn't want to move an inch. Eventually, I drifted off to the sound of his soft snores.

I catapulted out of sleep to the sound of someone yelling. At first, I thought it was Arthur, until I opened my eyes, found the light was on, and looked into his frightened face. Cold sweat stuck the sheet to my body, and my heart hammered in my chest. I panted as if I'd run a mile. I kicked the sheet off my legs and sat up.

"Travis?" Arthur reached out timidly and placed his hand on my chest.

"Fuck," I gasped as the images from the dream swam behind my eyes.

"What happened?" Realising I wasn't about to punch him, Arthur moved closer and slid his arms around me. "How bad was it?"

"It, um, it was—" I scrubbed a hand over my wet face and found tears there as well as sweat. Christ. "I need a cigarette."

Arthur slid out of the bed, grabbed the cigarettes and lighter from the kitchen counter, and returned to the bed. He lit two and placed one between my lips, then snuggled up to me again. "Can you tell me?"

I sucked on the cigarette and blew smoke out of my nose. My hand shook when I took it from my lips. "I was back in Vietnam. I haven't dreamed about it in a long time."

Arthur waited patiently, not prompting me to say anything. I smoked the rest of the cigarette and lit another. My pulse slowed and my hands had stopped shaking. I slid my arm around Arthur and held onto him. "I was out there for about three months before anything much happened," I began. "We started to get blasé about it. It was October when we got ambushed."

My hand started to shake again as I lifted the cigarette to my lips. I finished it and passed the butt to Arthur to drop into the ashtray at his side of the bed. When he'd disposed of it, he took my hand and gripped it tightly.

"Me and one other guy were hiding behind an anthill. They didn't see us. The rest—" I paused, choking. "They were shot up so bad, they were barely recognisable. After, me and Jeff crawled across the battlefield looking for survivors. There weren't any. Not one. Just blood everywhere, and body parts strewn all around. I found my best friend with all his guts coming out and one of his arms gone. I can remember looking at my hands and they were covered in blood."

"God, Travis, I'm so sorry." Arthur gripped my hand tighter and hugged me against him with his other arm. I slumped against him, my face against his shoulder.

"We were shipped out a few days later." My voice stuttered and croaked as I tried to get the words out before I broke down. "They put us in the hospital in San Francisco. I barely slept. I was scared to because the minute I closed my eyes, I saw it all again and again. Jeff was in the next room to me. I heard him screaming every time he fell asleep. Then one day I went in there to see him and he was gone. They said he'd hung himself."

Arthur let go of my hand and slid his arm around my neck, hugging my trembling body. I couldn't even bring myself to be embarrassed at the tears dripping onto his chest, or the fact that I was sobbing so loudly the rest of the block probably heard me. I held onto Arthur like he was a lifeline and bawled like a baby.

It seemed a long time before I got myself together. I pulled away from Arthur and went to the bathroom to wash the tears and snot off my face. When I looked at myself in the mirror, my eyes were wild and bloodshot with dark shadows underneath. I got in the shower and stood under the spray until it ran cold. By the time I returned to the other room, Arthur had folded up the bed, switched on the main lights, and made coffee.

"You didn't have to do all this. Don't you need to sleep some more? It's the middle of the night."

"I'm okay. I doubt you want to lie in the darkness anymore. Here." He passed me a coffee and another lit cigarette. If I'd been on my own, I would have drunk whiskey, but Arthur's comfort seemed to do more good. Already the memories had begun to fade, and all I wanted to do was snuggle up on the couch with him and watch TV.

By the time we'd watched an old black and white crime thriller, Arthur had fallen asleep again. He'd taken sleeping pills, unlike me. I didn't pay much attention to the next movie that came on, which was some sort of comedy romance. Arthur's head was in my lap and I didn't want to disturb him to get up and change it. Instead, I thought about my situation.

I loved Arthur, I realised. It had crept up on me without me noticing and because I had nothing to compare it to, I didn't accept it right away. He was good for me, despite all his problems. If I'd woken alone from that terrible nightmare, I'd still be shaking, sweating, and trying to drink myself unconscious. Instead, I was relaxed, and the remnants of the dream had already faded. Perhaps talking to him about it helped. It never had with my therapists, but they were paid to get me to talk. They didn't give a shit whether I had bad dreams and struggled to get out of bed in the morning when the worst days of my depression hit.

I stroked my fingers through his soft hair and ran my hand down his back. He was still far too thin, but not as bad as when I met him. Sleep had ironed out the lines on his face that made him look older than he was, and long lashes rested on his cheeks, hiding his beautiful green eyes. I was lucky—lucky I'd made the decision to go looking for the clown who'd killed Murray Franklin on live television; lucky I'd helped him when he collapsed, hurt and bloody, after the car accident.

"I love you, Arthur," I whispered. "I'll tell you properly when you wake up."

Daylight crept through the drapes, and Arthur slept on. I carefully lifted his head and replaced my legs with a cushion. I made more coffee and smoked a cigarette, then quietly let myself out of the room. Minutes later, I was in my car heading across town to a store near the porn theatre. I'd seen it many times when I lived here before, and I hoped it was still there. As I drove down the block and passed the theatre, I felt relief when I saw the bright green neon sign for George's Jokes and Parties. I parked around the corner and walked back to the door.

No one else was in the store, and I went up to the counter to find the proprietor, who looked to be about a hundred years old.

"Morning, Sir. How can I be of assistance?" He smiled pleasantly and I noticed half of his teeth were missing.

"Do you sell the puppets used in Punch and Judy shows?"

"Why, yes I do. Right over here." He came out from behind the counter and led me to a shelf where an assortment of puppets sat, propped against each other so they looked as if they were waiting and watching for customers who might want them. "Are you looking for any one in particular?"

"I need a whole set."

"Well, these are the main ones." The old man lifted down various characters. "Punch and Judy, of course. The policeman, the dog, and the crocodile. We have various extras, too. This one is a butcher." He showed me a character in an apron that came with a slab of steak and a string of sausages. There were others, too, meaning the operator could make up lots of stories.

"I'll take them all," I said.

"Certainly, Sir. I'll bag them up for you. Are you planning on starting up a show? There's one in the market, you know. A new young guy recently took over. He's very good."

I smiled. "Yeah, that's my friend. Some thugs attacked him and broke all his puppets. These are to replace them."

The old man frowned and shook his head. "The youth of today. Scum. Utter scum. I blame the parents."

"Me too. How much?"

He rang up the puppets and accessories on the till, and I handed over two hundred and fifty dollars, and even then, he'd done me a discount for buying so many. I left with a large paper sack containing all the puppets, individually wrapped in colourful tissue paper.

When I arrived back at the apartment Arthur was eating toast, his morning pills lined up on the counter waiting to be taken.

"Hey. Where've you been?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, thanks to you." I put the bag down and wrapped my arms around him. "You were amazing last night."

"I didn't do anything much other than listen."

"Exactly. It was what I needed." I hugged him tighter, my heart pounding. "I should have told you sooner. It helped. You made everything better."

"I'm glad. You do so much for me. It's not one-sided, you know. You can lean on me too."

"I know." I met his eyes, my mouth suddenly dry. I'd never said it before, to anyone. "I love you, Arthur."

He gasped a little, his eyes widening. "I didn't think you were at that point."

"I was just too blind to realise what I was feeling. I was thinking about it last night when you were asleep. I know I love you."

His whole face lit up, eyes sparkling. "I love you, too, Travis."

I gave him a quick kiss, then backed away. "I have something for you." I indicated the bag.

"A present?"

"Yeah."

He picked up the bag and sat on the couch to look inside. When he unwrapped the crocodile and realised the bag was filled with all the puppets he lost, plus a number of new ones, his eyes shone with tears. "Travis, you didn't have to do this."

"Yes, I did. You're good. People love your shows. Even the guy in the shop that sells these had heard about you."

"You spent so much money."

"Who cares? I earn enough."

He put the puppets aside and got up to hug me. "Thank you, Travis. Thank you. No one's ever done anything like this for me before."

"Better get used to it." I grinned and turned away to pour myself some coffee and drop some bread into the toaster.

"I'd better practise. I'll need to make up some new sketches for these." Arthur held up the butcher. "This is new."

While I ate my toast, he made up a scene with Judy going to buy steak for Punch's dinner, and the dog stealing the string of sausages. Since the dog belonged to Judy, the butcher asked her to pay for the sausages. She refused and proceed to beat the butcher with the stick usually reserved for Punch.

I chuckled as I watched. Arthur was great and he had a different voice for each character, including a growly one for the dog and a high-pitched squeaky one for Judy that I'd heard before. When it was time for him to go to work, I drove him to the market and hung around to watch the first show. Then I made my way to the diner where Wizard hung out, deciding I would talk to him and find out what his thoughts on Arthur were. If he recognised him from the TV, I needed to know about it.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The diner was filled with breakfasters when I walked in. I sat at the counter and nursed a cup of coffee, watching the comings and goings. It was probably a little early for Wizard to be in, but I waited anyway. Eventually, a corner table became available. I took it and ordered a coffee refill and some pancakes, so they'd let me sit there as long as I wanted.

Wizard came in about an hour later, after most of the tables had emptied. He spotted me almost at once and came over, quickly followed by a waitress.

"Get me the usual, please," he said. She poured him a coffee and walked away.

"Hey." I nodded at him and offered him a cigarette.

"I gave up."

"Okay." I put them away, not bothering to light one for myself.

"How's things?" he asked me.

"Pretty good."

"I remembered where I saw that Arthur guy." He eyed me steadily. "You brought him here from Gotham, right?"

"Yeah."

"You know he's a wanted killer."

"Of course I know."

"He killed five people, Travis."

"I killed four," I reminded him.

"That was different."

"Was it? They all bullied him in different ways; treated him like shit."

"It's still different. You were stopping an armed robbery and helping a twelve-year-old girl get away from illegal child pimps."

"Not like you to be all holier than thou, Wizard. Are you gonna say anything?"

He shrugged. "It's not my business. You know I'm no grass. I'm interested, though. Why'd you involve yourself in this?"

"I was curious. Presumably you saw the Murray show."

"Yeah."

"I wanted to meet that person. See what it was all about."

"So, you were there when the cop car crashed and he escaped?"

"Yes."

"But that was weeks ago. You're still hanging out with him?"

"Uh huh."

Wizard scratched his neck. "You looked pretty friendly the other night. All dressed up, too. I saw you through the window."

I sighed. Of course he had. Not that he would have seen much. We might have leaned towards each other when we were talking. I lit a cigarette for him. Nothing more. "Of course we looked friendly. We're friends."

"Okay." He dropped it as the waitress returned with an overflowing plate of breakfast.

I drank my coffee and watched him eat. He had a thoughtful look about him as if he were mulling over what I'd said. He wasn't stupid, but hopefully he was more concerned about Arthur's past than what I might be doing with him.

"So, this Arthur," he began again when he finished eating. "What's with the laughing thing? They said something on the news about him being crazy and having been in that nuthouse in Gotham. What's it called? Arkham?"

"Yeah. Why are you so interested?"

"Just seems weird, that's all. You suddenly turning up here with a serial killer in tow."

"He's not crazy," I told him. "He had a head injury when he was a kid. Didn't I tell you something about him having a condition when you saw us before? He laughs when he's upset or nervous. Can't help it."

"If he's going around killing people, sounds to me like he should still be in a padded cell. They found a body in his apartment, you know. Stabbed in the eye and the neck with scissors and with his head bashed into the wall. It was a bloodbath."

I winced, remembering the gory sight of Randall lying in Arthur's apartment. "He was off his medication. The social services cut the funding and he couldn't get it," I explained. "He's back on it now."

"He managed to get meds without getting caught? Does he have fake ID or something?"

"No, I got some scripts from Dave."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. That scumbag." Wizard wrinkled his nose. "You've sure done a lot for this guy."

"What's with the third degree anyway?"

"Sorry, Trav. Like I said, I'm just interested. You know I won't say anything. I just don't get why. I haven't seen you in five years, and suddenly you're back and you're, I don't know—different."

"I'm not different." I frowned.

"You are. You look kinda happy. That's weird in itself. You were always the most depressed individual I knew."

"Maybe I'm just overjoyed to have got out of Gotham."

"Well, I guess that would make anybody happy. Why you went to that shithole in the first place was beyond me." Wizard grinned suddenly. "So, you're driving again. Not planning on coming back with us?"

"No. I'm staying independent. Keeping a low profile. I don't think I was seen with Arthur, but you never know."

"Sure. You're off the grid here, then?"

"Yeah. I got a cheap room for cash. I traded in my cab for another when I got here. The insurance is still registered at my old address in Gotham. They could find me if they looked hard enough, but they don't seem bothered. It was chaos that night."

"It's crazy there," Wizard agreed. "The riots are still going on. I'm surprised more people aren't leaving."

He changed the subject then, and told me about a woman he'd met, and what the rest of our old "gang" were up to. He didn't mention Arthur again, but I could see he was thinking about what I'd told him and trying to put two and two together. I left him half an hour later and went to pick up my first fare of the day.

When I finished driving and went home, Arthur was already back, lounging on the couch in front of the TV in pyjama pants and a dark red sweater that looked new. I leaned down to kiss him and touched his sleeve. "Is this new?"

"Yeah. I don't have enough clothes. I thought I'd try to get one new thing to wear every couple of weeks. There's a stall on the market that does some really nice stuff, cheaper than the stores."

"Good idea. How did the puppet shows go?"

A wide smile spread across his face. "They were amazing. The kids loved the new stories I made up. One man asked me if I'd do a private show at his little boy's birthday party in a couple of weeks. He said he'd pay me fifty dollars."

"That's amazing. And there was no trouble from kids after?"

"No. I told the guy on the kitchen stall near where I do my shows about what happened. He stayed talking to me while I packed up, but there were none of those older kids hanging around anyway."

"That's good. I should have come to meet you." I cursed myself for not doing that.

"You don't have to do that, Travis. I shouldn't have to rely on you for everything."

"I saw Wizard," I told him. "He was asking about you."

"Did he guess about us?" His eyes went wide.

"No. He seemed suspicious, but he only really asked questions about us leaving Gotham and what you did there."

"You mean the fact that I killed six people." He flinched and I wondered about that. It was the first time I'd seen him show any discomfort about what he'd done.

"Five. Penny wasn't confirmed," I reminded him.

"Whatever. Doesn't he care that you smuggled a murderer out of Gotham, and that we're still spending time together?"

"He's only concerned I might get caught. At least that's what he said. He didn't seem to know the right questions to ask. Like I said before, though, I'm not gonna hide you away. If he realises what we are to each other, I don't care. You're the only one that really matters to me, Arthur."

He smiled again. "I've never been that important to anybody."

"Me neither."

I didn't see Wizard again for a couple of weeks. During that time, Arthur's body began to get used to his new medication, and he had no more nausea or cramps or anything else. He performed at the kid's birthday party and managed to get three more private bookings from other parents attending the party with their own children. There was no more trouble on the market, and Arthur's name was no longer mentioned on the news. Gotham settled down and the latest drama was the increasing poverty there, with many businesses closing down due to having lost all their stock during the riots. It made me even more glad I'd left.

It was Christmas Eve and somehow it had crept up on us without us noticing, despite the fact that the city was decked out with lights, an enormous tree stood in front of the Rockefeller Centre as always, and every time you switched on the radio, it was playing Christmas songs. I wondered how it had got by me, but then again, I hadn't celebrated Christmas in years. I didn't bother when I was on my own in Gotham. The most I'd done between leaving the marines and moving out of New York was have a few drinks with Wizard and the other guys, before they all scattered to be with their families, and I spent the day in my apartment, watching TV, and eating a frozen dinner like I did every other day.

The market only stayed open until three o'clock, but it gave me a little time to think about getting a gift for Arthur. He hadn't mentioned Christmas either, and I didn't know if he even observed it. For all I knew, he could be a Jehovah's Witness or something like that. But it didn't mean I couldn't get him a gift. People bought each other gifts all the time and it didn't have to be anything to do with Christmas. I could simply buy him something because I loved him.

I grinned to myself, a warm glow spreading through me. Then I laughed at myself for being soft. I'd never had these feelings before, and it was strange to think of someone—of Arthur—and be unable to stop myself smiling; to feel my heart swell with feelings for him.

I walked downtown, making my way through crowds of hurrying shoppers with numerous bags, all trying to get last minute Christmas gifts. What should I buy for Arthur? He liked clothes. For the first time in his life he was buying new things for himself instead of cast-offs from thrift stores. But there was nothing special about a new shirt or a pair of shoes, at least not as a gift. He didn't wear jewellery, but I didn't know if that was because he didn't like it, or because he couldn't afford it and had never had any bought for him. Personally, I liked a chunky necklace, but the one I'd had when I lived in New York before had got broken and lost when I was shot in the neck.

I looked in every store window I passed, hoping for inspiration. Arthur liked musicals, but I'd bought him a couple of video tapes and he bought them himself when he wanted. That wouldn't be special either. I came to a halt, my way blocked by a crowd of people clustered around a window looking in at the display. The shop sold watches and clocks. Arthur had a shitty plastic watch that looked like the type you might buy a kid when it was learning to tell the time. Perfect.

I squirmed through the crowd to the door and made it inside. The store was just as crowded within as it was out front. The five harassed staff were serving other customers, with several waiting behind each. I took some time to look around as much as I could, edging between people to get to each display. Arthur didn't like fancy flashy things, except when he was wearing his red suit. Most of the time he wore plain clothes and subdued colours, except for that stupid watch, which was purple.

One watch on the display I was looking at stood out to me. It had a simple white face with Roman numerals in black, and a dark brown leather strap. The others surrounding it were gold or silver, bristling with buttons for different things, and with chunky metal bracelets. I could imagine Arthur wearing the one with the leather strap.

Almost forty minutes passed before I managed to reach one of the counters and buy the watch. They gift-wrapped it for me and added a plain tag I could write on myself. Finally, I escaped the store. I still had some time before Arthur finished at the market, and I made my way to the club we'd gone to that had ended in disaster. We hadn't been since, but I wanted to. Much to my surprise, they had a sign in the window advertising Christmas dinner, with places available. Usually, they opened later in the day, but today the doors were already open and clearly, they were doing lunch the following day. I went in and booked a table. If Arthur didn't do Christmas, maybe he'd enjoy a turkey dinner and a dance afterwards regardless.

I hurried home, wrote on the gift tag on the small parcel, and hid it in the same place I kept my journal. It reminded me I hadn't written anything for some time. I hadn't felt the need to. Arthur was good for me, too.

The door opened and he sidled in, struggling with his bag of puppets, another large bag of something, and a little pine tree in a net bag to hold its branches together. "I didn't think to ask. You're not Jewish, are you?" he asked. "Or a Jehovah's Witness or anything?"

I laughed. "I was wondering the same about you. And no, I'm not." I took the tree from him and found a knife to cut off the netting. The tree was about three feet tall, and would stand on the cabinet beside the bed, if we could find a bucket or something to put it in.

"There's a tree stand in this bag," Arthur said. "It screws onto the trunk." He'd thought of everything. Besides the tree stand, the bag contained a small string of lights, one strand of bright red tinsel, and a dozen baubles in assorted colours. "I wanted to get more," he told me. "But we only have room for this small tree."

"It's perfect." I watched as he screwed on the stand and balanced the tree on the cabinet, then began winding the string of lights around it. I retrieved the gift box containing the watch and placed it under the tree.

"You got me a present?" Arthur's eyes widened.

"Of course."

He grinned and finished hanging baubles on the tree. Then he took one final item out of the bag—a long flat wrapped box with a gift tag—and put it under the tree, too. "This will be the first Christmas I'll have enjoyed," he said. "And the first one I have something to look forward to after."

"Me too," I agreed. "Merry Christmas, Arthur."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

We spent the rest of Christmas Eve watching TV and cuddling. There was a Charlie Chaplin movie on that we both enjoyed, then a choice of either a musical or a war movie. I selected the musical. Arthur would like it, and the last thing I wanted to watch was actors pretending to blow each other up as if they knew what it was really like.

Since I talked to Arthur about Vietnam, I felt as if a black cloud had slowly drifted away, leaving me lighter and brighter. I still barely slept unless I gobbled sleeping pills, but I no longer felt as I were standing at a precipice, waiting for some unseen force to pull me over the edge. Those awful memories hadn't gone away altogether, but somehow things weren't so bad. Sharing with my therapists never made any difference but sharing with Arthur had. Maybe because he loved me.

When the movie ended, we went to bed, fooled around for a while, then slept in each other's arms. I opened my eyes on Christmas morning to find Arthur already awake, smoking and sipping coffee. A steaming mug waited for me.

"Merry Christmas, Travis." He leaned over to kiss me. I grinned up at him when he drew back.

"Merry Christmas, Arthur. How long have you been awake?"

"Only ten minutes. I slept really well."

"Me too." I'd taken two pills last night. I sat up to drink my coffee, and Arthur lit a cigarette for me. When we'd finished them, Arthur put the mugs aside, switched on the Christmas tree lights, and took the two small parcels from beneath it. He passed me the flatter one.

"Open yours first."

"Okay." The parcel didn't have a gift tag attached, but Arthur had written on the plain blue paper: "To Travis. Merry Christmas. Love from Arthur." I pulled off the paper to reveal a box with a jeweller's logo on it.

"I hope you like it." Arthur barked with laughter and lit another cigarette with shaking hands.

"Hey." I squeezed his knee. "Of course I'll like it. It's my first Christmas gift that meant anything."

"You might not like it. I kept the receipt in case you want to take it back. I, um, I—" He rubbed a hand over his face.

"Stop it." I ran my hand up his thigh and back down to his knee. "Don't get so anxious about this."

"I never had anyone important to buy a gift for. I don't want to fuck it up."

I kept my hand on his leg while I opened the box. Inside was a heavy silver chain, very like the one I used to have.

"Do you like it?" Arthur prompted worriedly.

"I love it. I used to have one like this." I picked up the chain and fastened it around my neck. It was just the right length to nestle at the base of my throat.

"I know. You were wearing one in that picture in the newspaper clipping. I just worried that one might have been given to you by someone special."

"I never had anyone special before you, Arthur, you know that. I bought that chain myself. It got broken and lost when I was shot." I leaned over and kissed him. "I love it. Thank you."

Finally, he relaxed and smiled. "Can I open mine now?"

"Sure."

He stuck his cigarette between his lips and unwrapped the box. As he lifted off the lid and saw the watch, he gasped, and his cigarette fell on the sheet. "Shit!" He snatched it up. It had already singed the sheet.

I laughed and took it from him. "I hope it's okay," I said.

"It's perfect." He fastened the watch strap around his left wrist. "I always wanted a watch like this, but I never had any money to buy one. Penny bought that stupid purple one I wear. Thank you, Travis." He took his cigarette back and dropped it into the ashtray. Then he cupped my face in his hands and brought our lips together.

We showered together that morning, squeezing into the tiny space and getting each other off with soapy hands. When we'd dried off, I put on one of my best shirts and trousers.

"Why are you dressing up?" Arthur put his new watch back on first. "You're not thinking of going to church, are you?"

"Church? Hell, no."

He snorted. "Good. Penny always used to watch a church service on the TV on Christmas morning. I never used to get it."

"You don't believe in God?"

"No."

"Me neither." I found my best blazer. "We're going out for Christmas dinner. I thought you could wear your red suit."

"We're going out?" His eyes widened.

"Is that okay?"

"Yes. I've never been out for Christmas dinner. I didn't even know you could do that."

"We're going to that club. We could dance after, if you wanted to."

Arthur beamed. "I'd love that. I'll get dressed." He looked down at himself, wearing nothing but underwear and his watch.

I folded up the couch while he picked out some clothes. "Do you mind if I wear this?" He held up my yellow shirt. "I like this one. I like yellow. I had to throw away my yellow waistcoat. It had blood on it."

"Sure, you can wear it." I grinned, ridiculously happy at the idea of him wearing my shirt. Somewhere in my head, I filed away the knowledge that he liked yellow.

We walked to the club. It took a while, but it was a fine morning. Barely anyone was out on the streets, and only a small amount of traffic passed by.

A doorman in a dinner jacket and bowtie opened the door for us and showed us to our table. The lamp in the middle was decorated with tinsel, and the whole room was hung with sparkly streamers. The table napkins were red with holly embroidered in the corners.

I ordered lemonade for Arthur and beer for myself. A few people at other tables were already eating, and more couples filtered in as we were served leek and potato soup with crusty rolls and butter. I wondered if three courses of food would be too much for Arthur, but he ate all of his soup without the bread, and when the traditional Christmas dinner arrived, he waded through it and cleared about three-quarters of his plate.

"I've never eaten so much in my life."

"There's pudding yet." I grinned. "Have you room for any?"

"I don't like Christmas pudding."

"They might have something else."

He shrugged. "You could eat mine."

A waiter arrived to take away our plates and offered us a choice of Christmas pudding or cheesecake. We both had cheesecake and I ate half of Arthur's when he found he couldn't eat any more. We slouched in our seats, stuffed and lazy, as two couples got up and began to dance.

"I really want to dance but I'm not sure I can move." Arthur chuckled.

"We can just sit here for a while." I pulled out my cigarettes and lit two. We smoked and watched the dancers. A few more joined them, moving jauntily around the floor to Christmas songs. Eventually, we got up and danced to a couple of tunes, before I paid the bill and we left.

As I stepped out of the building, Arthur close behind me, we were met by a fine drizzle that had started during our dinner. I stuck up my hand to flag down a passing cab, then cringed when it pulled up and I realised the driver was Wizard. This was it, then. It was too late to change our minds and walk away. I opened the door, waited for Arthur to get in, and followed him.

"Hey, Wizard."

"Hey." He started driving and eyed us in the rear-view mirror. "Where you going?"

I gave him the street address, and he swung the cab around in the street to head back the other way. I wanted to say something but couldn't think of anything suitable. Arthur fidgeted nervously, hands twisted together between his knees. Wizard glanced repeatedly in his mirror as if he were weighing up a stray dog that he wasn't sure was safe to be around. When the car pulled up near our apartment block, we got out and I pulled out my wallet. Wizard got out of the car.

"Go on up." I gestured at the building. Arthur looked at me anxiously, then hurried away.

"Put that away." Wizard waved away my money.

"So." I shrugged.

"You're—" He cleared his throat and avoided looking at me. "One of _them._"

I shrugged again.

"I don't get it. You were nuts about Betsy."

"That was a long time ago."

"So, time turns you into a fag, does it?" He unsuccessfully tried to suppress a grimace.

I ignored the insult. I'd heard it before, when we'd been hanging out in the diner late at night and occasionally seen an obviously gay, camp guy flouncing around looking for attention.

"I like who I like," I said. "I liked Betsy then, not that it did me any good. I like Arthur now."

"You're living with him?"

"Yeah."

"Shit." Wizard shook his head and gulped as if he were trying not to vomit.

"Well, it's up to you whether you want to speak to me in the future or not. I'm no different. Merry Christmas, Wizard." I turned away and opened the door to the building. He didn't speak.

I was halfway up the stairs when the door opened, and Wizard shouted after me. "Merry Christmas, Trav!"

I grinned, and carried on up to our place, where Arthur was waiting with the door open. Wizard didn't hate me. He'd just avoid thinking about what I got up to with Arthur.

"What did he say?" Arthur asked anxiously as I closed and locked the door.

"Not much. He's okay. A bit disgusted by the idea of his old buddy with another guy, but he'll get over it. It went better than I imagined."

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for? I'm with you and if anyone doesn't like it, fuck 'em."

Arthur laughed. "Fuck 'em." He slid his arms around my neck and pressed against me. "Travis, do you want to fuck me?"

I stared at him, surprised. "I didn't think you'd want to."

"I want to try. I've been thinking about it. I feel better since I told you what happened. Like I said, it was a long time ago. That other time when we tried it, I hadn't been touched like that before. Not ever. I could only think about it in a bad way. If I can't do it, we can stop, but I want to try. If you do. I mean, maybe you don't. I—"

"Stop talking." I pressed my finger to his lips. "I want you, more than you can possibly imagine. I just don't want you to be upset or scared. I don't like seeing you like that, especially if I'm the cause."

"I'll be okay."

"Okay." I slipped Arthur's jacket off his shoulders and laid it on the arm of the couch. Then I began to unbutton his shirt—my shirt. It was a little big on him, but he looked good in yellow. He giggled nervously and colour crept across his cheeks. I slid my hands inside the shirt and leaned in to kiss him. Our lips clung and he moaned softly as I slid my tongue into his mouth. I drew back and finished taking off his shirt, then stepped back and began to undress myself.

Arthur opened out the couch and put the sheets on it before finishing taking his clothes off. I didn't take my eyes off him as I dropped my last item of clothing on the floor. I was so hard I ached, and my heart pounded as if I'd been running. This was it. I was both excited and terrified—the latter because I was worried about hurting him or freaking him out, or generally messing up because I'd never done it before either.

He slipped between the sheets and smiled shyly. I turned off the main light, leaving the room lit only by the Christmas tree lights, then joined him in bed.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Suddenly, I was more anxious than I was excited. Maybe it would have been better to just start kissing, then whatever happened next would follow naturally. But we'd got into bed with the express idea of having sex. I was convinced I would be the one to fuck up, and my erection wilted. My heart raced, my palms sweated, and my guts churned as I imagined that first time again. He liked my fingers, but the minute I tried to put my dick in him, he freaked out. That would happen again. He'd think about what happened when he was twelve—being pinned down by some man; violated; left bleeding. Or, I'd get in him and he'd tense up and be in pain and then I'd feel like crap too. I'd never felt less like fucking in my life.

"Travis." Arthur touched my face. "Stop worrying. I'm fine."

I laughed nervously. "Is it that obvious?"

"Maybe we should have just started kissing and let whatever happens next, happen."

"I was thinking that." I laughed some more.

"You sound like me. Laughing when you're anxious." He smiled gently. He seemed strangely relaxed and unworried.

"Maybe I should take some of your pills."

"They don't stop me laughing. They're only supposed to stop me doing crazy things and thinking they're normal." He moved closer and pressed himself against me. His dick was half hard, and it prodded my stomach. "We don't have to do anything tonight. I know you haven't done this before either." He pressed his mouth to my ear and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I could suck you if you want."

Immediately, I remembered how it felt with his mouth on me. The stupid thoughts in my head faded, and my soft dick began to swell. Arthur laughed softly. "You're so easy to get going. All I have to do is remind you of that. Sucking you. Licking you. Making you come in my mouth."

"Fucking hell, Arthur," I groaned. My erection was back, rock hard against his.

He laughed, not hysterically, but with genuine amusement. Then he blew in my ear, a soft puff of warm air that made my spine quiver. Who would have thought that someone as awkward and inexperienced as Arthur, could be so damn sexy? I rolled him onto his back.

"Stop teasing me. Where's the lube?"

"Here." He groped under the Christmas tree for it and passed it to me. I coated my fingers. Arthur spread his legs and pulled his knees up, then drew me into a kiss. I thrust my tongue into his mouth as I gently pressed one finger inside him. My dick throbbed and leaked, sliding against his hip as I explored him, making him squirm and gasp when I found his prostate. "More. Please," he urged.

I added a second finger, meeting only slight resistance. He relaxed and released a long breath. I pushed in farther, curling my fingertips up to massage the small bump that drove him wild.

"Fuck!" He rolled his head back. I felt the sting of his nails on my shoulders.

I grinned. "I bet you could come like this."

"Yeah. But I want more." He opened his eyes and met mine in the dim light. "I'm ready. I'm okay."

"All right." I slid my fingers out and took a moment to slick my erection with lube. The cool fluid made me twitch and jerk, and I resisted the temptation to stroke myself a few times. Instead, I moved between his legs, taking my weight on my knees and one elbow. I reached down to guide myself, my heart thundering in my chest and my hand shaking. I kept my gaze locked with Arthur's, watching for any sign he was starting to panic.

"I'm okay," he repeated. "I love you, Travis."

I pushed in and the head of my dick slid past his tight ring of muscle. I stopped and hovered there, convinced it must be uncomfortable for him. He stroked his hands down my back and cupped my arse. I eased in more, my body shaking with the effort of holding back when I ached to drive myself balls deep with one thrust. Arthur's brow wrinkled a little, and his breathing quickened. His eyes were half closed.

"Look at me," I whispered. "You're okay. It's me."

He looked up again and met my eyes. "I'm fine. It's fine. You can move." He relaxed again. "It doesn't hurt."

I brushed my lips against his. "I love you." I began to move, tiny shallow thrusts, barely an inch each way. My balls pulled up and my thighs trembled. I was so fucking close already, just from the incredible heat and tightness gripping my dick. But more than that, it was the knowledge that I was fucking—no, making love to—the person who was everything to me. I slipped my hand between us and began stroking him, slow and firm, urging him along with me.

"Don't, I'll come," he gasped.

"I hope so. I'm not gonna last long." I drew back almost to my tip and thrust back in more firmly. Arthur grunted and bucked up against me. We fell into a slightly clumsy rhythm, me off-balance with one hand between us, jerking him erratically. It was too much all at once—the feel of being inside him; his erection, hard and wet in my hand; the sound of him gasping and moaning. I groaned with both pleasure and frustration as my orgasm rushed through me, my dick pulsing and shooting inside him. I stayed there, buried deep, willing myself to stay hard as I stroked him off.

It didn't take long. He arched under me, and warm fluid spattered across my belly and dribbled over my hand. He clenched tight around me, making my over-sensitive softening penis twitch. I shuddered, and carefully withdrew. When I would have slid off him, he wrapped his arms tight around me and pulled me down onto him.

We lay there, clinging to each other. The only sound in the room was our breathing, still harsh and erratic. Eventually, I rolled over onto my back, taking Arthur with me. He nestled against my side and kissed my neck.

"Are you okay?" I whispered.

"Yeah. It didn't hurt. It's just really wet." He sniggered.

"Should I have pulled out?"

"No. I like it. I didn't think about it at all. You know, what happened when I was a kid. It was just you and me. I knew I could trust you."

I kissed his temple and hugged him tighter. I hadn't known it was possible to love another person this much. I'd had so many doubts to start with, and now they were long gone.

We didn't move for a long time, until Arthur ran his hand over my stomach and grimaced. "We should probably shower."

I laughed. "I don't really want to move, but you're right." Reluctantly, I pulled away from him and lit two cigarettes. We smoked them before sharing the shower.

I watched Arthur closely, expecting him to wince or grimace as he moved around. I couldn't believe I hadn't caused him any discomfort, but he seemed fine. Perhaps I'd been careful enough for it to be okay.

We dried off and returned to bed to watch TV for a while. A Christmas Carol was on, and it turned out we both quite liked the story. We propped up the cushions to lean on and snuggled together as we watched Scrooge gradually turn from a nasty uncaring tight-arse into a loving, generous employer and friend.

"This is the best Christmas ever," Arthur said. "I always used to watch things like this—you know, Christmas movies—with other people enjoying their day, and wonder what it would be like to spend it with someone who cares for you. To actually have something to celebrate. What was it like when you were a kid?"

"Well, it was kinda quiet. I don't have any brothers or sisters, and my grandparents were dead, so it was just me and my parents. My mother died of cancer when I was twelve. My dad was strict and sometimes harsh. He was very religious. I guess that's why I'm not. I was brought up having it rammed down my throat, without being given the opportunity to make up my own mind.

"He was a construction worker. He had his own business and wanted me to join him. I only wanted to get away, and I joined the marines as soon as I was old enough. We had a big fight over it."

"Do you still see him?"

"No." I could barely remember the last time I'd seen my father. "I went home on leave after I finished my training. Some of my stuff was still there. He'd put it in the garage. He had a new woman he was planning to marry. He accused me of using his house as a hotel. We had another fight and I went back to my base. He never contacted me again, and I never went back home."

"Where was home? Here in the city?"

"Yeah." I lit another cigarette. "I'd love to see his face if he could see me now. He'd quote Leviticus at me. 'You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.'"

"That's from the Bible," Arthur said.

"Yeah. Another reason for me to not believe in that stuff."

"That's the main reason I don't. I've heard that passage before. We had to do religious studies in school. I knew I was gay when I was about fourteen or fifteen. Some of what we learned seemed to contradict itself. I'm an abomination, but at the same time, God supposedly loves all his children and forgives all. And if he loves us so much, why does he make us suffer? I never bought it."

I leaned over and kissed him. "The hell with anybody who's against this—you and me."

We slept in each other's arms that night as usual, knocked out by sleeping pills. I woke, groggy and disoriented, as daylight seeped into the room. Arthur was curled up with his back to me, his face buried in the pillow. I could tell by his breathing that he was awake.

I rolled over and wrapped my arm around him. When I kissed his ear, he stiffened. "Arthur? You okay?" I took my arm away and brushed his hair from his half-hidden face. He grunted and covered the exposed part of his face with his arm. I caught on immediately. It happened to me, too, sometimes. I'd have something good happen, and right after my depression kicked my arse.

I got up, made coffee and toast, and found Arthur's pills and my own. Arthur didn't move until I put the mug and plate under the Christmas tree, with his anti-depressants and his anti-psychotics on the plate with the toast. "Come on, get them down you."

"You should go to work," he muttered.

"I'm not going anywhere. It's the day after Christmas. I'm just gonna watch TV and stay right here."

"I'm sorry." He pulled himself up and reached for his coffee. "Last night was so perfect. You're so good to me, and I'm—" He sighed heavily. "Like this."

"But I get it. You know I do. Don't worry about it. Eat that toast so you can take your pills." I lit two cigarettes and passed him one.

"I don't deserve you. You could have so much better."

"There's none better for me than you, Arthur. I love you," I reminded him.

He laughed out a lungful of smoke. "I know, but—"

"But nothing. When I'm having one of my bad days, are you gonna walk away? Think you can do better?"

"Of course not." He paused and took another drag on his cigarette. "I guess we're a good fit. We understand each other."

"Absolutely." I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Eat your toast, take your pills, and get through the day. If you wanna talk, we can talk. If you don't, I'll just sit here and watch the TV."

He nodded and forced a thin smile. "Thank you, Travis."

We did exactly that. I watched the news, a movie, some daytime crap, and another movie. Arthur huddled under the bedcovers beside me, only moving to use the bathroom or smoke another cigarette. Eventually, he wriggled closer to me and snuggled into my arms. I hated seeing him so down, but he just had to get through it. He knew I was there for him, the same way he was there for me.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

"Why the fuck don't you work better?" I muttered, glaring at the bottle of pills. Anti-depressants were supposed to help you be less depressed, and I guess they did, but they weren't a magic fix. Arthur had been wallowing in a pit of despair for three days and it was rubbing off on me. He was in the shower and I tried to summon up some willpower to get out of bed and make coffee. It seemed too much like hard work. "Get up, Travis, you dick," I murmured. What good was I to Arthur like this?

I hadn't expected to get such a kick in the guts from my own issues right now. Since meeting Arthur, and especially since I talked to him about why I was like I was, things seemed better. I couldn't even remember the last time I wrote in my journal. I didn't seem to need it and hadn't even thought about it. Every moment I wasn't at work, I spent with Arthur.

Then one morning I woke up and wondered what the point to it all was. That was yesterday. I made myself do everything I usually did until Arthur left for work. He headed off every morning to do his Punch and Judy act, and God knew how he did it. When he returned, shoulders slumped and dragging his feet, I admired him for simply getting out and doing that no matter how he felt. I hadn't gone to work yesterday. I laid on the sofa, smoking and draining the half bottle of whiskey I had, which I knew would only make me feel worse.

I faked it through the evening and made something for us to eat. Arthur barely spoke so it was easy for me not to. I sat with him and watched TV until it was time to go to bed. Today, it was worse. I started counting to three. On three, I would get up and make coffee. By the time I'd counted four times, Arthur was out of the shower.

"Travis? You getting up?" He started to get dressed.

"Yeah. In a minute."

Arthur made coffee and stuck some bread in the toaster. I closed my eyes and listened to him lighting a cigarette, pouring coffee, and stirring in sugar. The bread popped out of the toaster and he spread butter on it, then bit into a slice. He shook pills out of two bottles and gulped them down.

"Here you go." He placed a mug and a plate on the cabinet next to me. I opened one eye and didn't move. Arthur sat on the edge of the bed and touched my shoulder. "Travis?"

"Mm." I closed my eye again as he stared at me, frowning.

"Shit," he said. "I should have noticed. I'm sorry. I was so wrapped up in how I feel. Did you even go to work yesterday?"

"No."

"Get up." He slid an arm under me and hauled me upright.

"Leave me alone," I muttered. All I wanted to do was bury myself in the bed covers and wait it out. Even talking used every ounce of energy I had.

"No, I won't. Travis, you are always here for me. The last few days have been shit. I still feel like shit and I didn't notice you. I've never seen you like this. You weren't even like this after you told me about Vietnam." He picked up my mug of coffee and held it in front of my face. "Drink this and eat your toast so you can have your pills."

I took the mug and sipped. "I don't know how you do it." I sighed.

"Do what?"

"Go to work. Do the kind of job you do when you feel like this."

"I always did. We never had any money. I still had to take care of Penny. I couldn't just stay in bed. I can't now, because people rely on me doing the shows and we still need the money. I can put on a happy face when I have to. It doesn't reflect on the inside." He took the mug from me and handed me a slice of toast. "Eat, or your pills will give you a bad stomach."

I ate. I wouldn't have let him refuse. He was still suffering, and yet he pushed it aside to help me.

"Please don't," Arthur whispered suddenly. "I know it's hard, but we'll make it, together." He brushed his fingertips across my cheek, and I realised with embarrassment, that tears were rolling down my face.

"Fuck's sake," I muttered. I pushed his hand away and scrubbed at my face. "I'll take a shower."

"You've seen me much worse," he reminded me. "Don't hide from me."

"I'm not." I was, and my discomfort over my pathetic display pushed me out of bed and into the bathroom. I closed the door and stayed in the shower almost as long as Arthur did when he was struggling. Eventually, the water ran cold and I had to get out. I wrapped a towel around my waist and opened the door. I avoided his eyes as I slunk out of the room. I felt laid bare—like he could see inside me. I shouldn't have cared. Like he said, I'd seen him much worse, but it didn't make me feel any less ashamed.

"You didn't take your pills." Arthur pointed at two pills he'd taken out of the container and placed beside a cup of water. "Do you want me to stay home from work today?"

"You can't do that. People will be waiting for you."

"I can if you need me. Remember the day after Christmas? I had the worst day I'd had in a while and you stayed with me. Even though I didn't speak or do anything. You were just there."

"Did it help?"

"Not really. I mean, I appreciated that you just sat there all day with me, but I didn't feel any less bad."

"And having you here all day won't make me feel any less bad. Go to work, Arthur. I'm okay," I lied.

"You won't—" He paused. "Travis, you won't do anything, will you?"

"Whaddya mean?"

"You won't hurt yourself."

"No!" I snapped.

"Okay." He finished doing whatever he had to do, then kissed me and left.

I crawled back into bed, feeling like the worst piece of shit. I hadn't missed the pained look on his face when I barked at him. He was having a bad time, too, and I probably made it worse for him. I just wasn't used to having anyone else around when my depression got the better of me. Usually, I drank copious amounts of liquor and passed out. Then I'd wake feeling like death, probably throw up a lot, and drink some more. Eventually, I'd feel less bad—not better, but less bad.

Rather than drink, I found my journal and tried writing in it. It was slow going, and only a few words at a time appeared. I lost track of how long I sat there with the pen in my hand, but it was the middle of the afternoon by the time one page filled up. I read it over as if I was reading someone else's thoughts and found myself surprised by the outpouring of self-pity.

"What do I even have to be miserable about?" I wrote. "I have more than I ever had before. I am healthy (mostly), I have money, and I have Arthur. For the first time in my life I have someone who loves me, who I love." I stopped and lit a cigarette, then continued. "If he left me, I'd have a reason to feel like this. Maybe I should see a therapist again."

I put the pen down and closed the notebook. Okay, maybe not. I'd seen plenty of therapists before, and none of them were any help. I could only imagine what their notes about me said. Probably that I should be in a padded cell.

The door opened and Arthur came in. He slouched into the room, closed the door, then turned to face me with a fake smile.

"Don't." I shook my head. "Don't put on a happy face for me."

His smile vanished in an instant. He put his bag of puppets down, took off his jacket and shoes, and sat on the bed beside me. "How are you? You've been writing in your journal?" He eyed the notebook.

"Yeah. I haven't done that in a while. I was asking myself what I have to be so down about. I have more than I ever had before. I have you."

"You don't need a reason to be unhappy," Arthur said. "We just are sometimes. I was never happy before I met you. Sometimes I ask myself the same question. How can I feel so bad when I have so much? If I'm awake in the night and I can hear you breathing next to me; feel your arm around me. How can I still be sad? I guess it's how we're made."

"I guess. I love you, Arthur. Don't doubt that."

"I know." He smiled, a genuine one this time. "I love you, too."

The next day was better. The black cloud hanging over both of us dispersed. I worked nights for a while to make up for the few days I hadn't done anything. The rent was due and although I had enough to pay it, it would leave nothing over for anything else we might need.

We barely saw each other for the next week. Arthur would get home from work around four or five and we ate together, then I'd go out and drive all night. I returned around three or four in the morning and slipped int bed with him for a few hours. Then he'd get up and go to work. We exchanged a few kisses in greeting, but that was all. To anyone watching from the outside, it probably looked like we had drifted apart.

Not seeing him much helped me. Since we met, he'd relied on me so much. I didn't mind—not at all. I loved him and I would have done anything for him. But I didn't like being the one who needed someone. I'd always been a loner, and suddenly finding myself in a new life that I shared with someone twenty-four-seven was so different, sometimes I didn't know how to deal with it. Being apart from him most of the day reset my head in some way.

By the next weekend, I found myself sitting in my cab waiting for fares, thinking about him. My chest ached with missing him and I wondered if he was feeling the same way. I imagined him curled up in our bed alone, lying awake, wanting me. I knew he wasn't taking his sleeping pills. The bottle was untouched, and the dark circles under his eyes grew by the day.

I glanced at my watch. Three-thirty. It was Friday night and the city was still buzzing, but I'd had enough. The rent was paid, the fridge was full of groceries, and the stash of money we kept in the apartment had grown again. I drove home, parked behind the building, and headed up the stairs. My stomach fluttered with excitement as I let myself into the little apartment.

I undressed in the darkness. I knew Arthur was awake. He lay still, pretending, but his uneven breathing gave him away. I crawled under the bed covers, slid close to him, and rolled him over to face me. "I missed you."

He chuckled softly. "You saw me last night."

"For an hour while we ate dinner. I miss you. I've been thinking about you all night. I'm sorry I've been distant."

"You needed to work nights to earn more. I know that."

"I needed to get out of my own head."

"I know that, too." Arthur touched my face. "I missed you as well."

I pressed closer so he could feel my erection. He sighed and squirmed against me. He began to get hard inside his underwear. His breathing quickened, and he slid one leg over my hip.

"You want me?" I whispered.

"Yeah. Inside."

"Get these off." I flicked the waistband of his underwear, and while he took them off, I reached for the lube.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Arthur tossed his underwear and the T-shirt he'd been wearing off the side of the bed. His eyes glinted in the darkness as I leaned over him and brought our lips together. My heart banged against my ribs, and my dick throbbed, eager to be inside him. I ran my hand over his chest, exploring his soft pecs and the light sprinkling of hair. He didn't think he was physically attractive, but to me, he was the biggest turn-on. I slid my hand lower, over his ribcage to his flat stomach. The muscles jumped under my touch, and the wet tip of his erection bumped my wrist.

I thrust my tongue into his mouth and crushed his lips with mine. I wanted to make this last, but at the same time I couldn't wait. I wanted to push his legs apart and drive myself into him. Instead, I held back, quivering with frustration, while I touched him more—trailed my fingers over one hip, down over his thigh and back up the inside of it to his balls. I cupped them, stroked and squeezed until he pulled out of the kiss to suck in a breath.

"Travis," he gasped. "Fuck me."

"Don't be so impatient." I kissed his jaw, rough and stubbly, then the point where his neck joined his shoulder. "I'm taking my time." We'd only done this once before, I reminded myself. I hadn't any experience of foreplay, except for what I'd done with Arthur. I made it up as I went along, but every touch of my fingers, and every kiss and gentle nip on his neck made him squirm and moan, so I guessed I was doing it right.

"Please," he whispered, as I purposefully ignored his dick and explored the deep "V" between his hips, then stroked the other thigh, outside, inside, down to his knee and back up to his sac. I cupped it again and gently tugged. He clutched at me, blunt nails digging into my shoulders as he held on. I laid my palm over his erection, trapping it against his stomach. It pulsed under my touch, wet and leaking. I coated my fingers with his fluid, then reached down and circled his anus. He moaned and spread his legs wider.

"Tell me what you want." My lips brushed his ear as I spoke.

"Put your finger in me," he said in a rush, his voice rough with need.

I pressed in and grasping heat pulled my digit in as far as it would reach. I curled it up, found his prostrate, and rubbed across it.

"Fuck!" Arthur's hips arched up, and he rolled his head back. "More. Please, Travis."

"Relax." I added a second finger and carefully fucked him with them, stretching him open.

"Wait. Stop." He grabbed my wrist and stilled my hand.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm gonna come. Give me a minute," he panted.

I grinned. "Isn't that the idea?"

"Not yet. I want you in me when I come."

I groaned, and my neglected erection twitched against his leg. Arthur laughed, low and breathless. He slid his hand between us and wrapped his slender fingers around my shaft. As he stroked me, too lightly to give me the friction I needed, I began to move my fingers in him again.

Moments later, he took his hand off me and tapped my wrist, stopping me again. "I'm ready. You can stop." As I withdrew my fingers, he found the lube and squeezed some into his palm. I sucked in a breath as he ran his hand up and down my dick, coating me in the cool slick.

"Fuck, that's good."

"Oh, you want me to get you off like this?" Arthur teased.

"No." I pushed his hand off. "You're a tease. I'm not gonna last long."

"You never do." He chuckled. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment."

"Shut up." I pressed my lips to his. He slid his arms around me and pulled me onto him. He drew his knees up either side of me and squeezed my arse. "You are impatient." I grinned down at him.

"Fuck me, Travis." He was eager and confident, so different from last time, when I'd been terrified I would hurt him or scare him, after what he'd told me. I lifted my weight off him enough to get my hand between us and guide myself. As I pushed in, he rolled his hips up, taking me in deep when I would have taken my time and inched in slowly.

"Damn." I groaned as his tight heat gripped me and my balls bumped against him. I pulled back and drove into him again, slow and steady. We fell into a rhythm together, easier than the first time. He moved with me, one hand on my back, the other between us, stroking himself off. He was right about me never lasting very long, and this time was going to be no exception. I could already feel my orgasm approaching as the heat of his body squeezed and tugged at my erection.

"Do it harder," he panted suddenly. "I'm almost there."

I slammed into him, hard and fast, only a handful of times before warm spurts shot across my stomach and he clenched around me. One more thrust and I came, filling him with wet warmth. "Fuck," I gasped. I tried to hold my weight off him, but my body slumped, weak and trembling, and crushed him into the mattress. He pulled his hand out from between us and held me tight with both arms. My softening dick slid from him and rested between his thighs. "You okay?" My lips brushed his ear as I spoke.

"That was—" He hugged me tighter still. "It was perfect. I love you, Travis. I need you."

"I love you." I nuzzled his ear and kissed the lobe. "And I need you, too."

"Thank you."

"What for?" I shivered as he ran his fingers lightly up my back and into my hair.

"Coming to find me that day. Saving me. When I think about it now, I can hardly believe that was me. But that's who I am when I'm off my meds. I don't know what's better—being myself and doing crazy shit or being this other person who relies on drugs all the time to be even a tiny bit normal."

"Hey, this is pretty deep. You sure you're okay?" I rolled off him and tugged him over to face me.

"Yes, I'm okay. More than okay. Sometimes I just don't know who I am."

"Well, I know who you are." I touched his face and brushed a thumb over his lips. "I love you however you are. I was fascinated by you as Joker. Maybe he's the real you, or maybe he's just part of you that came out when the system kicked you too many times. Whatever. You're my Arthur."

He smiled and kissed my thumb. "I am."

I didn't need to take any sleeping pills, and Arthur didn't bother either. We slept for a few hours, wrapped around each other. When I opened my eyes, daylight filled the room and Arthur was still nestled against me, his dick hard against my leg.

"Hey." I kissed his cheek. "You awake?"

"Mm." He smiled but didn't open his eyes.

I moved a little, lining myself up with him so I could grasp both our erections together. His eyes flew open and he gasped. "This okay?" I whispered.

"Oh yes."

I jerked us off together, quick and hard, and added to the mess on our bodies that we hadn't bothered to clean off hours before. We showered together, dried off and dressed. Arthur made coffee while I lit two cigarettes and stuck one in his mouth. He smoked for a minute, then passed me my coffee and stared at me thoughtfully.

"Can I ask you something, Travis?"

"Sure."

"Were you very different before I knew you? I mean, when you were in New York before."

"I don't know. Maybe."

"I mean, you did some things. Sort of like what I did only for a different reason."

"I told you about that."

"I know. But I wondered if you were different. Did you feel different?"

I wasn't sure what he was getting at, but I tried to think what I would have written in my journal back then, if I'd put any of it on paper without worrying someone might read it later and realise I was crazy.

"I was angry," I said. "The system let us down after Vietnam. Sure, I had therapy and medication, but they didn't really give a shit. They just wanted to brush us under the carpet. When I came back here, to the city, I noticed all the filth and the scum that I hadn't seen before. Maybe I'd been too young to notice; I don't know. I wanted to do something about it. When I saw an armed robber holding up an old guy in his store, I wanted to punish him. When I met Iris—a child, being whored out by sick animals like Sport—I wanted to help her and make things better. And I wanted to tear them apart and kick their remains into the gutter." I took a breath and swallowed my rising tension. "I thought I could make a difference, but the city is too big. There's too much of it. I went a little crazy for a while. When I came out of the coma after I got shot, I thought I'd failed. The things I said got me locked up."

"We're alike in some ways." Arthur smiled and sipped his coffee. "I didn't do what I did because I was angry. I wanted to hurt the people who hurt me. That other part of me—Joker—sort of took over. It was almost as if I was watching him do those things. Like I was watching a TV show and laughing when the hero got away with everything. No one else saw him as a hero, though. Well, maybe the clowns did that night."

"I guess I did. I watched you on the TV. I saw the Murray show, and you were laughing. You even danced after you shot him. I went out into the city to see what else was happening, and I sort of hoped I'd see you. I didn't think it very likely. I assumed they'd already have you locked up. But then the cop car went past right where I was standing."

"Did you see what happened? Part of that is missing in my head. I think I was knocked out when we crashed."

"A stolen ambulance hit the car. Three guys in clown masks lifted you out of the car and laid you on it. The cops were dead. I moved closer until I could see. You coughed and started to get up. People were cheering and chanting. I remember thinking you were like a puppet, rising on its strings. Sort of broken, but still strong and proud."

"I remember looking down at all those people and thinking I must be somebody. They're all applauding me. Then things got sort of fuzzy and you were there." He shook himself and ran a hand through his hair. "We never talked about this. Not like this anyway. I didn't mean for things to get so, um, intense."

"It's okay. We can share anything you want. Nothing you say to me will ever change the way I feel about you."

"I wanted you to see the real me, whoever that is." He came closer, slid his arms around me and rested his head against my shoulder. "He's still there, deep inside me. The meds keep him there most of the time."

I hugged him tightly. "Arthur, whether you're you, like now, or whether you're Joker, it makes no difference to me. I love you anyway."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Things seemed to get better for both of us over the next few weeks. I went back to working during the day so I could be with Arthur at night. His depression lifted as much as it was going to, and his meds had all settled into his system. He was calmer overall, but he still burst into inappropriate laughter sometimes, which would always be the case.

Arthur loved his work, and it led to a few party bookings, as well as some tips. We saved as much money as we could with the idea of finding a better apartment—one with a separate living room and bedroom.

I saw Wizard from time to time, usually when I was on my own. He seemed to want to ignore my situation and talk about other things. He never mentioned Arthur or asked how he was, which irritated me, but I understood. He couldn't bring himself to think about me with a guy, but he didn't want to lose my friendship.

I was the happiest I'd ever been in my life. Every morning, I woke up with Arthur in my arms. Every day when I got home, he'd be there making dinner for us. He'd bought a recipe book so he could try more adventurous dishes. I even tried making a few myself—some were disastrous, which we laughed over, and others were delicious. Arthur gained a few more pounds and his face lost its grey, gaunt look. He looked healthy and sexy, and I couldn't keep my hands off him. We didn't fuck that often—maybe once or twice a week—but we fooled around every chance we got. It all seemed too good to be true. I'd never had anything like this, and I almost expected it to disappear, like waking from a good dream.

It was Friday and I had an hour or so to go before I would head home. Torrential rain battered my car, so heavy I could barely see, even with my windscreen wipers going full speed. I hoped Arthur would have got himself a cab home, rather than walk to and from the subway stations.

Someone opened my back door and slid into the cab. I decided to make this my last fare rather than wait another hour. A hot shower wouldn't go amiss. I could invite Arthur to join me.

"Where you going?" I asked as I glanced in the rear-view mirror at the bedraggled, and strangely familiar older man. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I knew something wasn't right.

"Just drive."

I hesitated. The unmistakeable click of the safety being flicked off a gun made me stiffen, a second before the barrel pressed against the side of my neck, right over my scar.

"I said drive."

I shifted into first and pulled the car away from the kerb. "What do you want?"

"I've waited a long time for this. You left the city. I didn't know where. Then I heard you were back. Up to your old tricks, too. Some rich guy, alone in his house. Weird circumstances. Supposedly shot by an intruder and then shot himself? That was you, wasn't it? Two guys near that faggots' club. Your handywork? I've seen you around with your little arse-fucking buddy. I should kill you just for that. Turns my stomach."

"Who the fuck are you?" I growled. I calculated my chances of getting to my gun, which was in the glovebox. If I leaned forward to open the glovebox, I'd probably get a bullet in my brain before I could grab my own gun.

"I'm Matthew's father. You have no idea how it feels to lose your child. To see him on the news, blown to pieces by some crazy piece of shit like you."

I glanced in my rear-view again, and immediately recognised him. Sport's name was Matthew. If this man had fewer lines on his face, and dark hair instead of grey, he was the spitting image.

"What do you want from me?" I asked again. My voice was steady although my heart hammered against my ribs. Why the fuck hadn't I been more alert? Why wasn't my gun in my pants instead of in the glovebox? I could get myself killed by this idiot, and Arthur might never know what happened to me. He'd be alone. My jaw clicked as I ground my teeth.

"An eye for an eye." The end of the gun's barrel dug harder into my neck. I flinched involuntarily and clenched my hands tighter on the steering wheel. "Turn left at the intersection."

I did as instructed. As I drove, I became aware of everything around me—not just the older man behind me, who I knew planned to kill me. The rain was slowing. The streets were surprisingly quiet for a Friday at this time. A yellow cab passed by—Wizard was driving. He looked right at me. I checked my rear-view again and saw the cab loop around in the street, then start following me three cars back. "Fuck, Wizard, don't get involved in this," I said in my head.

We drove for ten minutes and when I was told to stop, I pulled up outside a rough old building, similar to the one Arthur and I lived in.

"Get out of the car." The old man pushed open his door, but stayed in the car behind me, the gun trained on the back of my head.

I slid out slowly and shot a sideways look back down the street. Wizard's cab had stopped two blocks away. "Don't do anything stupid," I told him mentally. Maybe he'd call the cops. He wasn't a vigilante, and I couldn't see him storming a house without a weapon, knowing I was being held at gunpoint. I doubted he knew I had a gun in my car, but maybe he'd check. Who knew? He was a smart man. I left the car unlocked, just in case.

"Inside." The gun prodded me in the back, and I walked into the building, through a single door, then up several flights of stairs.

"What do you plan to do with me? Kill me, or hold me prisoner?" I stumbled forward as the gun hit me in the side of the head. "Fuck!"

"Shut your mouth." He paused to unlock a door, then pushed me through it. After the door closed behind us, he hit me with the gun again. I saw stars; then I saw the dirty old carpet rushing up to meet me. Everything went black.

I regained consciousness to find my arms twisted behind me, and my wrists tied painfully tight with something. My temples throbbed fiercely, and I smelled blood. The carpet stunk of general filth. Cautiously, I opened one eye and could see only the carpet and the legs of a chair. No sign of Sport's father, and no sound. I tested whatever was tying my hands behind my back, but there was no getting out of it. I seemed to be tied with some sort of slick fabric—perhaps a tie. The old man knew what he was doing when he trussed me up.

"You're awake, then." A boot came into contact with the middle of my back. I grunted in pain, and my breath rushed out of me.

"I thought you wanted an eye for an eye," I said when I had my breath back. "I didn't tie Matthew up and keep him prisoner. I blew his fucking brains out."

"You piece of shit!" He stepped over me and I received another kick, in the stomach this time. I coughed and spluttered, struggling for breath. I wasn't in any position to taunt him, but I couldn't keep my stupid mouth shut.

"Is that the best you can do? Kick me around a little? Don't have the guts to pull the trigger?"

The gun went off, and I howled as the bullet punched through my shoulder, back to front. Blood spread across the front of my jacket, and the hole in the wood floor told me it had gone right through.

"Don't have the guts?" He dropped down to one knee in front of me. "Believe me, when I'm done with you, you'll be full of holes and begging me to put you out of your misery. I wonder how many bullets the human body can take without dying?"

For the first time, I felt a shiver of fear. My shoulder hurt like a bastard. He could put me through agony. I'd never see Arthur again. "Wizard, for the love of God, do something," I thought, not even realising I kind of prayed.

The gun went off again. Or I thought it did. I was looking right at it, and I didn't take another bullet. But Sport's father fell backwards, screaming. I stared at his body, uncomprehending, as bullets peppered the chest and stomach, one after another, until the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. The gun fell to the floor by my feet and hysterical laughter filled the room.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Arthur!" Wizard's voice cried out.

"Arthur?" I turned my head to see him, pacing back and forth in the small space, hands clamped to the sides of his face as he laughed and laughed. "Arthur!"

"The guy's fucking insane," Wizard muttered. He crouched behind me and began fiddling with the tie around my wrists. "He was in my cab. Said he normally got the subway, but you'd be upset if he walked in that downpour and caught his death. He saw you driving with a gun to your head."

So, that explained it.

"How did you get into this?" Wizard asked. "You've got a gun."

"It was in the glovebox. I couldn't get to it," I said through my teeth. My shoulder was in agony, not least because he tugged at my arm in his efforts to untie me. "Find a fucking knife, will you?"

Wizard moved away. Arthur continued to screech with laughter, until it finally subsided into choking. Wizard returned with a knife and cut the tie, then carefully helped me up. My head hurt as much as my shoulder, and I swayed dizzily. Arthur abruptly pulled himself together and moved to my side—the uninjured side. His arms came around me and I leaned on him gratefully.

"We need to get out of here," Wizard said. "We'll take your car. Can't leave it out the front there. Mine's right down the street and there are a thousand like it. Less suspicious."

"You're bleeding." Arthur chuckled, then coughed.

"Here." Wizard produced two cloths from somewhere, and tucked them inside my shirt, front and back. "Arthur, you need to put pressure on both sides. It'll hurt like a bastard, but you need to try and stop the bleeding."

"No, no, I can't." Arthur clung to my other side, shivering.

"Do it." I forced my head up to look at him, hoping I wouldn't pass out. "It's okay. Do as he says."

He applied pressure, front and back, and the pain made my vision narrow. I hung onto him with my good arm, trying to stay on my feet. The blackness receded a little, and we began the very long, slow descent of the stairs.

By the time Arthur got me into the back of my cab, I was shaking and felt so dizzy and sick I could barely stand. I closed my eyes and leaned on him as Wizard got in the front and began to drive.

"Don't take me to the hospital," I muttered. "Can't go to the hospital."

I guess I must have passed out completely, or at least been so out of it that I didn't remember anything for a while. The next time I opened my eyes, I was in bed—my own bed—with Arthur sitting beside me, smoking, his face a picture of worry. My head felt like I'd downed a whole bottle of whiskey, and I immediately knew I was going to throw up.

"Sick," I muttered, and tried to move.

"It's okay." Suddenly, Arthur's arm was under my shoulders, lifting me up, his other hand holding a bowl for me to puke in. I felt too bad even to be embarrassed. Hardly anything came up anyway. He lowered me back onto the cushions and took the bowl away. Moments later, he wiped my face with a cool damp cloth. "The nurse said you have a concussion and you should be in the hospital," Arthur said.

"What nurse?" I closed my eyes to escape the light.

"Wizard brought a nurse. She's someone he knows. He said she won't talk. She fixed your shoulder and told us to get some antibiotics. Wizard used one of your prescriptions to get some. She said to keep an eye on you because of the concussion. You could have a problem with your brain."

"My brain's fine. It just feels like it's been thrown around inside my head."

"It might swell," Arthur said worriedly. "But you seem to be making sense. She said to ask some questions. Do you know what day it is?"

"Friday."

"What's my name?"

"Arthur Fleck."

"Do you know your name?"

"Travis Bickle."

"Who's the President?"

"Ronald Reagan. Arthur, I'm fine. I can think fine. It just hurts when I do it. Did she get the bullet out?"

"It went right through. It's just a hole. She said it missed the bones. She poked around a lot. It made me throw up."

"Makes two of us. Arthur, I'm okay, I promise. I've been shot before, remember? Much worse than this. It hurts, but I can handle it. I need to not talk, though. My head hurts."

"Okay. But you need to have water, and some of the antibiotics." Arthur propped me up again, and I dutifully swallowed the pills and water. Not long after, I slept.

When I woke, who knew how long later, my head hurt less, and I didn't feel sick. My shoulder throbbed, and Arthur was sitting beside me, arms wrapped around his knees, rocking and laughing, with tears pouring down his face. Grimacing in pain, I pushed myself up with my good arm, and touched his shoulder.

"Arthur, I'm okay. It's all okay."

"It's not okay," he choked. "I can't do this anymore. I can't."

"What do you mean?" Anxiety gnawed at my guts.

He just shook his head and laughed some more; laughed so much he couldn't speak.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

There was nothing I could do but wait it out until he could speak. Meanwhile, I thought the worst. He was going to leave me. After everything, he was going to leave me. The lump in my throat made it impossible for me to say anything else, and I could barely breathe. Arthur's laughter seemed to go on and on, endlessly, until one of the other tenants yelled "Shut up!" through the wall. Then he stopped abruptly.

"Arthur?" I wasn't even sure I wanted him to answer. I didn't want to hear him say he'd had enough of me and all my crap.

"I killed seven people," he whispered. "Seven. It could have been eight. Or maybe nine if you hadn't taken the gun away from me outside that club."

"Arthur, you weren't yourself before," I reminded him. "We talked about this. Joker kind of took over, right? And today—you were saving me. I'd have died a long, slow, painful death if you hadn't been there to help me. You do know that, right?"

"But I killed seven people," he repeated. "I'm a murderer. A serial killer, don't they call it?" He dragged his hands through his hair and sniggered.

"They all hurt you," I reminded him. "Bullied you. Made you feel worthless. They got what they deserved. Didn't you say that?"

"Yes, but—"

"Arthur, look at me." I nudged him and eventually he dragged his gaze to my face. "Everything that happened back in Gotham is in the past. It doesn't matter anymore. You weren't the same person then."

"I know, but—"

"You left all that behind the same way you left Joker behind when you started taking your meds again."

He nodded.

"Tonight—"

"He came back. He took over. I killed someone else!"

"If you hadn't, Wizard would have." "Maybe," I added in my head. How could I make him feel better about this? "That wasn't Joker. That was you. You love me, right?"

"Yes!"

"That man was Sport's father. You know Sport? The child pimp I killed years ago?"

"Yes."

"He wanted revenge for his son. He said he was going to keep shooting me in different places to make me die slowly and as painfully as possible. He wanted to see how many bullets a human could take before it died. Even that one shot was agony. You stopped that. Just you, Arthur. You saved my life. So, don't think badly about it. You did what you had to do. Not Joker. You. Saving me."

He nodded slowly. "Okay. You really think that?"

"Yeah, I do. I saw what you were like when you were him, and you're not him now. You're you. You're not a murderer or a crazy person. You haven't got that snarky, cocky attitude that he had. You did what anybody would do if they got the chance to save the person they love from being hurt."

He blew out a shaky breath. "I guess you're right."

"I know I'm right. You're a good person, Arthur. It's okay to have a conscience. It just means you're normal. This time, you didn't have any choice in what you did." A sudden thought occurred to me. "Was it my gun?"

"Yes. I checked your car to see if it was there. You once said you kept it in the glovebox when you were working."

"Where is it?" The horrifying thought occurred to me that it might be in Sport's father's apartment, with both mine and Arthur's prints all over it.

"It's right there." He pointed to the cabinet beside the bed. "Wizard picked it up and gave it to me."

"Oh. Right. Good." I heaved a sigh of relief. "You know when you said, 'I can't do this anymore?' I thought you were going to say you wanted to leave."

Arthur's eyes widened. "I would never leave you. I'd rather die."

I smiled at him, despite the pain I was in. "That's all right then."

"I meant I want to leave all this behind. You're right about what happened today. I had to do that, or I would have lost you. But no more. I don't want to look back on my life in a few years' time and only be able to remember killing people."

"Do you want to leave New York?" I asked him. "My past is here. It caught up with me today. And yours is in Gotham. We could leave. We could go somewhere completely new where nobody knows either of us. What do you think?"

"But this is your home," Arthur said doubtfully.

"No, it isn't. It's just the first place I thought of going when I needed to get you out of Gotham. I knew I could work and find somewhere to live easy."

"What about Wizard? He's your friend."

"Wizard has a phone. We could call him sometimes. We have enough money saved up to go somewhere else and find a place to live. We can both do our jobs anywhere."

"We can really leave?" Arthur's face lit up.

"Sure. As soon as my shoulder's good enough to drive."

"I hear Punch and Judy is popular in seaside towns. I love the seaside. I've only ever been once. I can barely remember it. Penny took me there when I was a really little kid. We had ice-cream. Not long after that I was taken away." His face fell.

"Don't think about that, Arthur. Think about where we could go. In fact, if you get a map from the bookstore down the block, you could look at the towns along the coast and pick one." My head had begun to spin again. "I really need to rest." I slumped carefully down against the cushions and closed my eyes.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I get an attack of conscience and act all crazy, and you need me, not the other way around." Arthur gently lifted my head with one hand and rearranged the cushions more comfortably. "Try to sleep. The nurse said you can't have sleeping pills, but maybe you can drift off for a while. I'll be quiet."

Sleeping without the pills wasn't as difficult as I imagined. Within minutes, I was gone. When I woke again, the room was dark, and Arthur snored softly beside me. I sat up painfully and shuffled off the bed to go to the bathroom. The pain in my head was still there, but only as a dull ache. My shoulder had stiffened up and I could barely move my arm without sending spikes of hot pain through the upper part of it. I managed to piss and brush my teeth one-handed. Then I went back to bed.

I couldn't sleep anymore, but the sounds of Arthur sleeping lulled me into a relaxed state. I lay there, drifting and thinking, until light filled the room. Then Arthur woke, made me coffee and breakfast, and lit a cigarette for me.

"I really need a shower," I said between sips of coffee.

"You can't have a shower. You have to keep the bandage dry. I can run you a bath."

"Can you sponge me down, too? I might struggle to reach some parts with only one hand." I hadn't meant it in a sexy way, but as soon as I imagined him rubbing a soapy sponge over me, my dick twitched. It seemed to have no issue with the fact that my shoulder throbbed with pain.

"I suppose your good hand can't reach your crotch." Arthur giggled. "I'm surprised you can even think about that right now."

"My dick has a mind of its own. Besides, when you have an orgasm you produce dopamine, which can help reduce pain."

Arthur stared at me. "You're making that up."

"I'm not. Seriously. You can look it up. It's a hormone, kind of like adrenaline. Don't ask me how I know this. Maybe I paid attention in biology at school. Believe me, at that age anything with the vaguest connection to sex would have interested me."

"I'll run a bath." Arthur snorted. "I'd better help you produce some dopamine."

"Apparently, it doesn't last long. You might have to do it a lot." I winked.

Arthur stayed off work for a couple of days, taking care of me. Wizard brought his nurse friend around to check on me and change my dressing. She confirmed there was no infection.

Sport's father was on the news—a short report to say he'd been shot numerous times and died with a gun in his hand. He was wanted for armed robbery, and the police didn't seem interested in finding out who'd finished him off, assuming it was some other thug he'd had an altercation with. We'd got away with it again, but it was time for that to end. It didn't affect me, knowing I'd killed people. They'd all been bad and deserved it, in my mind. But Arthur didn't want anymore to do with it and moving to a small town miles from the big cities would probably take us away from that life.

After a week, I could drive again. I worked two weeks of nights to stash some more money. Then Arthur quit his Punch and Judy gig, and we packed up our meagre possessions. Arthur had spent days poring over a map he bought, looking for a suitable town to move to. There were too many big cities in the vicinity, and he finally found a spot in North Carolina that he liked the look of. It would mean driving through several states, including Virginia, which looked endless, but what the hell. We didn't have a deadline.

"I'll call when we get settled," I told Wizard. He'd come to see us off.

"I still think you're nuts." He lowered his voice, but Arthur was already in the car with the door shut and wouldn't hear him anyway. "What if you change your mind about him?"

"I won't."

"You used to like women."

I shrugged. "I don't dislike them now. I guess I like both. But I love Arthur. I don't notice anyone else is alive. Betsy could walk past me in her underwear, and I wouldn't care."

Wizard shook his head. "I don't get it."

"Don't try. I'm about as happy as I'm going to get. That's all you need to know."

"What about all his issues?"

"What about them? I have issues. We help each other. There's no point trying to talk me out of this."

"I'm not. I guess I'm still not used to it. You're different from when I knew you before."

"That's because I'm less depressed. I care about being alive. Be happy for me."

"Yeah, yeah. I am." Wizard shook my hand. "Take care, buddy."

"Thanks. I'll be seeing you." I doubted I would, but I would call. I got in the car. "Ready?"

"Yes." Arthur smiled. He had the map folded to show the first hundred miles or so of our journey. We intended to drive halfway, stay overnight in a motel, and then complete the drive the next day. We could have done it in one day, but there was no rush. We could check out a few sights on the way.

Wizard waved as we pulled away. Then he got in his cab and drove off in the other direction.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Arthur asked. He'd asked the same question almost every day since we decided to leave New York.

"I'm sure."

"But the city's your home."

"No, it isn't. We've talked about this. Where you are is my home." I shot him a smile, then took my hand off the wheel to hold his. "I didn't care about leaving before, when I went to Gotham. Just think, if I hadn't done that, I wouldn't know you."

"But you came back. Surely that means you want to be here."

"I seem to remember telling you it was just the first place I thought of, because I knew I could find us somewhere to stay easily. Stop worrying that I'm only doing this to please you, Arthur. I do want to please you, obviously. I love you. But I'm pleasing myself, too. I've only ever lived in a city. I'm kind of looking forward to a quiet little town with a beach. We might even be able to afford a small house instead of an apartment."

Arthur beamed. "That would be amazing. I hope we can have a garden."

"I think we can have anything if we put our minds to it." I let go of his hand and switched on the radio. Frank Sinatra's "My Way" was playing. It was sort of perfect. We were going to do it our way, and nobody would stop us.


End file.
